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 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022415891 
 
TCHAIKOVSKY 
 HIS LIFE AND WORKS 
 
li. niiij'T. n.,];,i, 
 
TCHAIKOVSKY 
 
 HIS LIFE AND WORKS, WITH EXTRACTS 
 FROM HIS WRITINGS, AND THE 
 DIARY OF HIS TOUR 
 ABROAD IN i{ 
 
 BY 
 
 ROSA NEWMARCH 
 
 JOHN LANE 
 
 THE BODLEY HEAD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1900 
 
TO 
 
 HENRY J. WOOD 
 
 WHO HAS HELPED TO REALISE 
 
 SO MANY OF Tchaikovsky's masterpieces 
 AND TO HIS WIFE 
 
Preface 
 
 Six years have now elapsed since Tchaikovsky's 
 death, and as yet no really adequate biography has 
 appeared, either in Russia or abroad. The authorised 
 Life and Letters has long been expected in vain. 
 Probably the difficulty of selecting from such a vast 
 mass of correspondence — Tchaikovsky's letters are 
 said to be numbered by thousands — is the chief 
 reason for the delay in publication. Meanwhile the 
 public interest, especially in England, is steadily 
 increasing, and almost every scrap of information 
 concerning the composer of " The Pathetic " Sym- 
 phony is eagerly sought after. In the absence of 
 anything more complete and authoritative I venture 
 to offer this volume to the admirers of Tchaikov- 
 sky's works. 
 
 In 1897 I published in The Musician a. series of 
 papers upon Tchaikovsky based upon a little volume 
 of personal reminiscences by M. N. Kashkin,^ one 
 
 1 Reminiscences of Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky, by N. Kashkin, 
 Moscow, 1897 (P. Jurgenson). 
 
viii Tchaikovsky 
 
 of the Professors of the Moscow Conservatoire, and 
 a friend and colleague of the composer. These 
 papers, which I have been repeatedly asked to re- 
 print, form the first part of the present volume. 
 They have been almost entirely rewritten, and 
 supplemented by a considerable amount of new 
 information derived from other and more recent 
 sources. 
 
 In 1898 appeared The Collected Writings of 
 Tchaikovsky, edited, with a preface, by the well- 
 known Russian critic G. Laroche. From this book 
 I made a collection of extracts showing the composer's 
 musical tastes and sympathies, and these papers 
 appeared in the Musical Standard under the title, 
 " Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic." The fact that 
 they were very well noticed in several Russian papers, 
 notably the Moscow Viedomosti, induced me to re- 
 print them here, with two additional chapters dealing 
 with Tchaikovsky's attitude towards Russian music. 
 Later on, at the suggestion of Mr. C. A. Barry, I 
 undertook to translate the diary of Tchaikovsky's! 
 tour abroad in 1888, now published for the first 
 time in English. And so the book grew to its] 
 present size. < 
 
 No one can be more conscious than myself of its 
 shortcomings, and of the patchy nature of its con- 
 struction. If it has not been altogether a case of 
 
Preface 
 
 IX 
 
 making bricks without straw, at least the straw has 
 been scattered on the four winds of journalism and 
 has had to be gathered up in the by-ways of Russian 
 musical literature. 
 
 My thanks are due to the editors of The Musi- 
 cian and the Musical Standard for their courteous 
 permission to reprint such matter as has already 
 appeared in those papers. I must also express my 
 gratitude to M. Kashkin and M. Laroche, from whose 
 works I have quoted freely ; and particularly to M. 
 Berezovsky, whose excellent article on Tchaikovsky 
 contains invaluable information. To the composer's 
 brother, M. Modeste Tchaikovsky, I am indebted 
 for permission to republish the Diary of 1888 ; while 
 M. P. Jurgenson has kindly supplied me with the 
 facsimile from the score of the Overture 1812. 
 Last, but not least, I have to thank M. Vladimir 
 Stassov, whose ready help and sympathy first enabled 
 me to undertake the study of Russian art. 
 
TCHAIKOVSKY 
 
 Among the leaders of the New School of music in 
 Russia Tchaikovsky occupies an exceptional place, 
 as one who, while strongly attracted by the forward 
 movements of his time, was restrained by his special 
 training from acknowledging complete allegiance to 
 the nationalist party. His character was essentially 
 Russian, and his tendencies the liberating tendencies 
 of the generation to which he belonged ; but his 
 music al education was cosmopolitan , and the teachers 
 whom he most reverenced leaned towards tradition 
 and authority. He was not, like Glinka, or, in a less 
 degree, like Rimsky - Korsakov, consecrated to the 
 service of nationality. In his heart a follower of 
 Liszt, Jn his_ intellectual conscience~ah~a3Herent2of 
 Cl^s^sm^ Tchaikovsky conipoie3run3ier tKe sway of 
 two conflicting influences, neither of which was strong 
 enough to efface for long his own intense personality. 
 Thus throughout his work we find a lack_of^ unity 
 which baffles dogmatic criticism, and compels us to 
 seek in the character of the man, rather than in his 
 
2 Tchaikovsky 
 
 theories, the interpretation of all he has expressed 
 in music. This susceptibility to the antagonistic 
 currents of thought and feeling which surrounded 
 him is not altogether a fault in Tchaikovsky. On 
 the contrary, it has lent to his music qualities of 
 pliancy, vari ety, and e clecticism which have proved 
 sources oT^icharm and attraction. It distinguishes 
 him from most of his contemporaries, and places 
 him in the sharpest contrast alike to Wagner, whose 
 militant energies forced a new channel of their own, 
 and to Brahms, whose work was mainly accomplished 
 under the influence of a single dominant idea 
 
 that Freedom slowly broadens down 
 From precedent to precedent. 
 
 Even if we admit that this division^ of jhpught and 
 emotion is a source of weakness in Tchaikovsky, 
 we must also acknowledge that it has its element of 
 popularity. At a time when the entire world of art 
 is divided upon questions of law and liberty, this 
 subjective confession of unsettled faith and dual 
 allegiance puts him in closer touch with his own 
 generation, though it may weaken his hold upon 
 succeeding ones. 
 
 Another source alike of weakness and popularity 
 in Tchaikovsky's music is his sympathy with the 
 maladie du siecle ; his command of every note in the 
 gamut of nielancholy. " A poet of one mood in all 
 his lays," his mon otony of pes simism, though it must 
 at times weary~the sane-mThdedTlhdividual, seems 
 to engage the public and draw them to him most 
 
His Life and Works 3 
 
 persistently in his moods of blackest despair. In 
 this respect, foreigners consider his music typically 
 Russian ; a view not entirely just to Russian art as 
 a whole, which is far too vigorous and healthy a 
 growth to remain continuously under the sway of 
 one emotional influence. Not .is_jrchaikovsky's 
 melancholy of that particular type which we associate 
 with_the Russian character : that sober, grey-tinted, 
 resigned pessimism which is a part of the Russian 
 nature rather than a mood, and is best exemplified in 
 the poems of Nekrasov. T chaik ovsky's emotional 
 and rflmantic despair seems to belong to other times 
 and other lands. It echoes Chateaubriand and 
 Byron, not Gogol and Tourgeniev. 
 
 To say that Tchaikovsky is the most accessible 
 and the best known among Russian composers is by 
 no means to say that he is the greatest. Unlike the 
 majority of the school to which he — in part — belongs, 
 he did not in his lifetime disdain popularity, and has 
 reaped his reward in a wider fame and a stronger 
 sway over the public taste. Setting aside his natural 
 dislike of public appearances, he was the first "of ithe 
 RuSians to travel in his own goods, if I may use 
 so commercial a simile. Partly for this reason, and 
 partly because his music possesses in the highest 
 degree those qualities of highly-wrought emotion and 
 brilliant workmanship which are always the first to 
 awaken a sympathetic echo, he has made a greater 
 impression than any of his compatriots. It is the 
 fashion to praise Tchaikovsky for having cast aside 
 so much of his national peculiarities as impeded his 
 
4 Tchaikovsky 
 
 progress towards the goal of fame. This action was 
 not so much a matter of conviction as of tempera- 
 ment and the circumstances of his education. It 
 was easier for him to drop the Slav than for many of 
 his fellow-workers. Fortunately, too, he could not 
 altogether get rid, of that imperishable fibre of race 
 to which he owes so much that is interesting and 
 original. There are few compensations for the sale of 
 our birthright. Nationality in art may have its narrow- 
 ing results, but the lasting influences in music, as in 
 literature, have never been effected by the depayses.. 
 
 I do not deny that Tchaikovsky possesses many 
 of the virtues of a master artist, but we shall miss 
 much if we let our appreciation of Russian music 
 stop short at his works alone. In each member of 
 the group which he partially represents, there is 
 some individual charm or gift, some concentration 
 of artistic purpose to a definite aim, in the highest 
 degree interesting to the student. The wisest will 
 let Tchaikovsky's achievement — with which we are 
 beginning to be familiar — ^serve as an elucidation of 
 the great national movement which lay behind it, and 
 as an introduction to the music — less stirring perhaps, 
 but not less worthy — of his immediate predecessors. , 
 
 Peter Ilich Tchaikovsky was born 7.thJ\^y 1840, 
 at Votinsk, in the government of Viatka. His father 
 
His Life and Works 5 
 
 was employed there as a mining engineer, but later on 
 he moved to St. Petersburg, where he was appointed 
 Director of the Technological Institute. The boy 
 was educated at the School of Jurisprudence, and after- 
 wards obtained a post in the Ministry of Justice. 
 
 IJkejnost^jii&-Ru§siajiXQjj]|)^^^ 
 begaahis musi cal caree r as an amateur. Launched 
 upon the society or the capital as an average youth 
 of fashion, his musical gifts won him considerable 
 popularity. At evening parties he shone in such 
 pieces as Dohler's Nocturne in D flat and 
 Weber's Invitation a la Valse ; but he had higher 
 ideals than these. The atmosphere of the School 
 of Jurisprudence was decidedly musical, thanks to 
 the influence of its patron Prince Oldenburgsky. 
 Tchaikovsky's most intimate school friend was the 
 future author Apukhtin, a young man of cultivated 
 and artistic tastes, who was passionately fond of Italian 
 music. The two friends spent their free evenings 
 at the opera, and most of their leisure moments in 
 discussing their favourite art. Apukhtin refers to this 
 in one of his poems, dedicated to Tchaikovsky : — 
 
 Do you remember how you used to drown 
 Your soul in art, forget this world of men ? 
 And how we dreamt of some ideal renown, 
 For Music was our worshipped idol then, 
 And Life a fleeting dream to us . . . 
 
 But in spite of this enthusiasm for music, it is doubtful 
 if Tchaikovsky had any serious thoughts of it as a 
 profession when first he took up his duties in the 
 
6 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Ministry of Justice. It would certainly have been 
 considered infra dig. in the official circles in which he 
 moved, besides which, it was imperative that he 
 should begin to earn a livelihood as soon as possible. 
 A trifling circumstance first started him upon the 
 path that was destined eventually to become a 
 triumphal way. Tchaikovsky had a cousin in the 
 Mounted Grenadiers, who was also an amateur per- 
 former and a friendly rival at social evenings. One 
 day, having met at the house of a mutual friend, 
 they began to discuss musical questions. " Among 
 other things," to relate the story in Tchaikovsky's 
 own words, "my cousin said it was possible to 
 modulate from one key to another without using 
 more than three chords. This excited my curiosity, 
 and to my astonishment I found that he improvised 
 whatever modulations I suggested, even from quite 
 extraneous keys." Tchaikovsky was piqued by this 
 show of superior knowledge. " I asked him where 
 he picked this up, and discovered that there were 
 classes in connection with the Musical Society where 
 one might learn all this wisdom." 
 
 Tchaikovsky lost no time in joining these classes, 
 which were held at the Michailovsky Palace ; but, 
 says Kashkin, he showed so little inclination for serious 
 work that he was at first regarded as an incorrigible 
 dilettante. Nevertheless, about this time he began 
 to feel a strong impulse towards music as a vocation. 
 But besides the question of means, he was lacking in 
 self-confidence. In December 1 86 1, he wrote to his 
 sister : "I told you I was studying the theory of 
 
His Life and Works 7 
 
 music with considerable success. It is generally 
 agreed that with my uncommon talents (I hope you 
 will not take this for mere boasting) it would be a 
 pity not to try my luck in this career. I am only 
 afraid of a want of purpose ; perhaps idleness may 
 take possession of me and I may not persevere. You 
 know I have power and capacity, but I am ailing 
 with your malady, which is called ' fragmentariness,' 
 and if I do not become enthusiastic over aTTlung I 
 am easily done for." 
 
 For some months Tchaikovsky remained in this 
 vacillating frame of mind. Without actually throw- 
 ing over his official duties he entered the Conserva- 
 toire, and was placed under Zaremba in the class for 
 counterpoint. 
 
 Antnn l^iihippfein often attended the harmony 
 classes at the Conservatoire to examine the work of 
 the students. Struck by the ability, and also by the 
 carelessness, of Tchaikovsky's exercises, he called him 
 aside after class, and s poke to him with such combined 
 charm and severity that the Laodicean mood vanished 
 for ever. Rubinstein's appeal irrevocably decided 
 Tchaikovsky's destiny, and henceforward he cherished 
 an adoration for the man who had pointed out his 
 true vocation. He now resigned his official appoint- 
 ment, withdrew from fashionable society, and devoted 
 himself entirely to the study of music. It is recorded 
 of Ilia Muromets — that popular hero of Russian folk- 
 lore — that he sat out the first thirty years of his Hfe in 
 complete inactivity. Once roused from his lethargy, 
 however, his strength was as the strength of ten, and 
 
8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 his deeds of prowess unparalleled. Tchaikovsky 
 might have taken this old hero for his model, he now 
 proved himself so full of unsuspected energy and 
 ambition. 
 
 "Tchaikovsky worked in an astonishing way," 
 said Rubinstein, speaking of his pupil to Kashkin in 
 later years. " Once, at the composition class, I set 
 him to write out contrapuntal variations on a given 
 theme, and I mentioned that in this class of work 
 not only quality but quantity was of importance. 1 
 thought perhaps he would write about a dozen^ 
 variations. But not at all. At the next class I 
 received over two hundred. To examine all these," 
 Rubinstein concluded, with a bland smile, " would 
 have taken me more time than it took him to write 
 them." Tchaikovsky, on leaving the Conservatoire 
 some three years later, received a silver medal for his 
 diploma work — a cantata for solo, chorus, and 
 orchestra, the text from Schiller's Ode to Joy. With 
 regard to this work, it is interesting to know that the 
 composer himself did not look upon it by any means 
 as a weak or immature effort, and would gladly have 
 seen it published, or at least re-performed. 
 
 In i86ij, Tchaikovsky began to study orchestra- 
 tion in Rubinstein's class. Rubinstein, as a com- 
 poser, wrote only for the modern orchestra, while 
 retaining at the same time the greatest reverence for 
 the works of the old classical writers. He impressed 
 these views upon his pupil, and made him adopt the 
 habit of thinking and writing in the language of the 
 modern orchestra from the beginning of his career. 
 
His Life and Works 9 
 
 Besides the piano, Tchaikovsky studied the flute and 
 the organ. Rubinstein helped him to earn a living 
 by recommending him as a teacher and accompanist. 
 In the latter capacity he frequently attended the 
 musical evenings of the Grand Duchess Helena 
 Paulovna. At the Conservatoire he became intimate 
 with his fello w-student Laroc he, who exercised an 
 important influence upon his future life. 
 
 Tchaikovsky now came to be regarded, both by 
 masters and students, as a young man of very great 
 promise. In 1864-65, Laroche — who afterwards 
 became one of the foremost musical critics in Russia 
 — wrote to Kashkin in Moscow of Tchaikovsky's 
 excellent qualities, and pointed him out as "the 
 future star of Russian music." Since 1863 harmony 
 classes had been held in Moscow in connection with 
 a branch of the Russian Musical Society, under the 
 management of Nicholas Rubinstein. Rubinstein 
 had neither time nor inclination to devote himself to 
 the teaching of theory, and in view of the opening of 
 the Moscow Conservatoire, in 1866, it was thought 
 necessary to engage a special teacher of these subjects. 
 The choice of a good man was limited in those days, 
 and Nicholas Rubinstein offered the post to Serov. 
 Serov accepted, but immediately afterwards the success 
 of his opera Rogneda, in St. Petersburg, made him 
 unwilling to leave the modern capital for the less 
 stirring atmosphere of Moscow. Rubinstein then 
 resolved to engage the services of one of the 
 first students who should qualify, satisfactorily at 
 the December examinations of the St. Petersburg 
 
10 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Conservatoire. Kashkin, on hearing of this, showed 
 Laroche's letter to Nicholas Rubinstein, and thus 
 Tchaikovsky was marked out as a suitable applicant. 
 Rubinstein, having subsequently interviewed the 
 young composer in St. Petersburg, was so favour- 
 ably impressed that he determined to appoint him to 
 the post, disregarding even the advice of Zaremba, 
 who recommended a more mature candidate. 
 
 Tchaikovsky entered upon his duties in Moscow 
 early in January 1866. The funds of the Musical 
 Society were not then in a flourishing condition, and 
 the expenses of the classes were kept as low as 
 possible. Tchaikovsky, as teacher of harmony, was 
 to receive fifty roubles — about £^G : 5s. — per month 
 until the opening of the Conservatoire. He would 
 have found some difficulty in living upon this 
 extremely modest salary if Nicholas Rubinstein had 
 not suggested to him to take up his quarters in his 
 own flat, where he had already one Inmate in the 
 person of the violinist Shradlk. "In external ap- 
 pearance," says Kashkin, " Tchaikovsky produced a 
 very favourable appearance, but the same cannGt ^ 
 said as to his dress. He wore a very old furtpelisse 
 which had been lent him by a friend, and the rest of 
 his costume harmonised with this ancient shuba." 
 Nicholas Rubinstein, who thought the young pro- 
 fessor would be none the worse for a new frock-coat, 
 was on the point of ofi^erlng him credit at his own 
 tailor's, when he remembered that Wienlawsky — who 
 always stayed with him on his visits to Moscow — 
 had, on the last occasion, left behind him a nearly 
 
His Life and Works ii 
 
 new frock-coat. It was fully a year since the virtuoso 
 had departed, and, according to Russian custom, the 
 coat belonged to the master of the house, who pre- 
 sented it, therefore, to Tchaikovsky. It was a very 
 bad fit, but Tchaikovsky did not trouble about that, 
 and wore it, " with as much proud dignity as though 
 it had been bought at the best tailor's in the town." 
 
 Kashkin was soon on terms of intimate friendship 
 with his young colleague. Tchaikovsky might easily 
 have become as great a social favourite in Moscow as 
 he had been in St. Petersburg, but he did not care 
 niu^hjorsociet^^ 
 
 guIg^^j?i?KnK!a3iISi7or his friend Jurgenson, the 
 publisher. Re"^Iso frequented the Little Theatre, 
 where the plays of Ostrovsky were the great 
 attraction of the day. An interesting feature of 
 Moscow life at that time was the Artists' Club, 
 founded by Nicholas Rubinstein, Ostrovsky, and 
 Count Odoievsky. Here the members often met to 
 listen to the reading of some new literary work. 
 Musical evenings were constantly organised, and 
 every renowned virtuoso who passed through Moscow 
 was certain to be heard at the Artists' Club. Ladies 
 were admitted, and dances held, at which the dance- 
 music was provided by such artists as Nicholas 
 Rubinstein and Wieniawsky. At this club Tchai- 
 kovsky met Osj£as;§ky, one of the most celebrated 
 writers of his da^who treated him with the greatest 
 kindness, and afterwards generously provided him 
 with the libretto of his first opera, The Voievoda. 
 The earhestidokjof Tchaikovsky^ 
 
1 2 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Glinjca and_MQzait^and he^h^ veneration 
 
 for the works gf Beethove n. Schumann's fiery= 
 impulse and dreamy sentimentalism had a great 
 attraction for him, and he inclined more to his music 
 than to that of Chopin, in whom he found a note of 
 invalidishness and a superfluity of subjective senti- 
 ment that somewhat repelled him. He greatly^ 
 modified this opinion, however, after he had heard 
 the works of Chopin interpreted by Nicholas 
 Rubinstein. Tchaikovsky was well read in the 
 literature of his own country, and his favourite 
 authors were Ostrovsky and Tolstoi. He spoke 
 French fluently, but of the German language and 
 literature he knew very little in his younger days. 
 Like most Russians, he was acquainted with Dickens 
 and Thackeray through the medium of translations, 
 but it was not until the last years of his life that he 
 knew any English. Kashkin says that Tchaikovsky 
 valued the morning hours for writing, and only 
 under great pressure of work employed his evenings 
 in composition. He would spend many hours 
 reading music for four hands. His favourite 
 relaxation was the game of Teralash (a Russian form 
 of whist). He was too absent-minded to become a 
 good player, but bore the rebukes of irritable 
 partners with the patient good-humour that seems 
 always to have been his characteristic. " TchaikovskyI 
 never defended^^hmself. when attacked, or began a" 
 quarrel, "_sajs_Kashj^in^ -"•—-■—•.—- — 
 
 Tchaikovsky started his harmony class upon the 
 system of his master Zaremgsu "Afterwards he 
 
His Life and Works 13 
 
 became more independent in his methods,' and laid 
 great stress on the value of thorough-bass ; half his 
 harmony course consisted of exercisesln'tliis subject. 
 He never considered himself a good teacher, and 
 took up the work more from necessity than inclina- 
 tion. But his scrupulous accuracy, business - like 
 habits, and wonderful memory for musical examples, 
 made him a more valuable teacher than he himself 
 believed. Shortly after his arrival in Moscow, 
 Nicholas Rubinstein suggested to him to write some- 
 thing for performance at one of the concerts of the 
 Musical Society. Rubinstein — who during two- 
 thirds of the year taught for nearly nine hours a day 
 — ^was very rarely at home, and saw next to nothing 
 of the two young men who shared his rooms. They 
 were not, however, very quiet quarters, for a series 
 of pianoforte classes was held there, and this music, 
 mingled with the strains of Shradik's fiddle, were 
 very distracting to the young composer. He was 
 driven to take refuge in a neighbouring inn which, 
 though it was a favourite haunt of the University 
 students, was generally deserted in the morning 
 hours. In the comparatively peaceful atmosphere of 
 " The Great Britain " Tchaikovsky worked out 
 most of his earlier compositions. The new work 
 — a Concert Overture in C minor — was duly finished 
 and submitted to Rubinstein for approval. 
 
 The composer, however, was destine4 to meet 
 with the first of a series of bitter disappointments. 
 Nicholas Rubinstein was not Javourably impressed by 
 the work, and all idea of its perforiri'ahce came to an 
 
14 Tchaikovsky 
 
 end. Tchaikovsky was hurt by what seemed to him 
 the captious quaUty of Rubinstein's criticisms, but he 
 showed no resentment. The time was too short to 
 allow of his preparing another work, and the Concert 
 Overture in F major, for small orchestra, written in 
 St. Petersburg, took the place of the rejected com- 
 position. Here again Rubinstein demurred, and 
 insisted upon the overture being re-scored for full 
 orchestra, a proceeding which, according to Laroche, 
 quite spoilt its unity of character. It was heard on 
 4th March 1866, at Rubinstein's benefit concert, 
 and though it did not have an extraordinary success, 
 it attracted the attention of musicians to its composer. 
 " He was thirsting for support and encouragement," 
 writes Kashkin, " but at that time he hardly found 
 one or the other." For the rest of the winter 
 Tchaikovsky composed very Httle, but he planned 
 the sketch of his first symphonic poem. Winter Day 
 Dreams {Zimnia Grozi). 
 
 The next event of importance in his life was the 
 opening of the Moscow Conservatoire in the autumn 
 of 1866. After an imposing ceremony, a banquet 
 was given, at which the directors of the institution 
 and the members of the teaching staff were present. 
 Tchaikovsky, in spite of constitutional shyness, was a 
 good speaker, and in an effective speech he proposed * 
 the prosperity of the sister Conservatoire of St. 
 Petersburg. The banquet was followed by music, 
 and Tchaikovsky, who was resolved that the first 
 music heard in the hall of the Conservatoire should 
 be Glinka's, opened the impromptu concert by 
 
His Life and Works 15 
 
 playing the Overture to Russian and Ludmilla from 
 memory. He would have been well received, if only 
 from patriotic sentiments, but his technique and 
 artistic feeling were of a quality to command atten- 
 tion in themselves. Nicholas Rubinstein now moved 
 into rooms adjoining the Conservatoire, and 
 Tchaikovsky went with him. A few months later 
 they were joined by Laroche, who had been appointed 
 to the Conservatoire. The presence of Laroche did 
 much towards reconciling Tchaikovsky to life in 
 Moscow ; for though, eventually, he grew very fond 
 of the ancient town atmosphere, during the first 
 years of his existence there he was always regretting 
 St. Petersburg, with its modern and more progressive 
 musical life. 
 
 During the autumn of 1866 he was chiefly 
 occupied upon his symphonic poem, Winter Day 
 Dreams. With regard to his method of work 
 I wiU quote the words of his friend Kashkin : — 
 "Tchaikovsky has not infrequently been accused 
 of excessive haste and negligence in his work. On 
 what gi^liind"~strch an accusation is founded I do 
 not know ; for, from the beginning to the end of his 
 career, he finished his compositions with grea,t care, 
 and absolutely without haste. If his works were 
 written in an unbroken series, this can be explained 
 simply by his industry. Everydayjie spent some 
 hoursjn composing, and the~3isincIinatlon for work 
 was unknown to him, at least in the morning. Un- 
 known to him, too, was the usual Russian ' some day 
 or other ' which has stolen time from so many of us. 
 
1 6 Tchaikovsky- 
 
 Tchaikovsky had the immense advantage of sugerior 
 discipline in his work. Perhaps he owed this to his 
 llrst'gioverness, a French lady, whose name I forget. 
 She lived until recently in some little town in the 
 south of France, and cherished the memory of her 
 pupil. If I am not mistaken, he visited her a year, 
 or less, before his death. When he told me of this 
 visit he was evidently much touched. With all the 
 vehemence and impressibility of his nature, Tchai- 
 kovsky was the personification of order and accuracy, 
 especially in his work ; and he always appreciated 
 the value of time. When first he came to live in 
 Moscow, although he was then six-and-twenty, he was 
 still inexperienced and young in many things, especi- 
 ally in the material questions of life ; but in all that 
 concerned his work he was already mature, with a 
 particularly elaborate method of work, in which all 
 was foreseen with admirable judgment, and mani- 
 pulated with the exactitude of the surgeon in operat- 
 ing. This knowledge saved him much time, and 
 permitted him to work with what seemed to others 
 an inconceivable rapidity." 
 
 As soon as the symphojiic poem. Winter Day 
 Dreams, was finished, Tchaikovsky started for St. 
 Petersburg, to show the new work to his old 
 masters, Zaremba and Anton Rubinstein. He still 
 valued the musical appreciation of St. Petersburg far 
 above that of Moscow, and it was his ambition to 
 have the symphony produced at a concert of the 
 Musical Society in that city. He was full of hope, and 
 confident of approbation ; but again disappointment 
 
His Life and Works 17 
 
 awaited him. Rubinstein and Zaremba criticised the 
 work with unsparing severity, and decided that it 
 could not pass into the programme of the Musical 
 Society. Zaremba objected chiefly to the second 
 theme of the first movement, and although this was 
 very satisfactory to the composer himself, he changed 
 it, and made many other alterations in deference to the 
 wishjof his masters. Even then the work did not 
 come up to their standard of excellence. Finally, by 
 way of consolation, they agreed to give the two 
 middle movements, but they met with no success. 
 The symphony now exists in its original form, 
 except for the unfortunate second theme, of which 
 the composer could never again recall his first idea. 
 This disappointment had the effect of detaching 
 Tchaikoysky's sympathies from St. Petersburg. 
 Henceforward he grew more and more reconciled to 
 life in Moscow, and valued the appreciation he was 
 beginning to meet with there. 
 
II 
 
 In the winter of 1866-67 Tchaikovsky was engaged 
 upon his first opera, The Voievoda. During a summer 
 holiday to Hapiaal, "on the coast of the Baltic, he 
 wrote the pianoforte pieces Souvenir de Hapsaal 
 (op. 2), of which No. 3, Chant sans paroles, has 
 become such a favourite. By the autumn of 1867 
 a considerable portion of The Voievoda was written, 
 including the orchestral number, " Dances of the 
 Serving Maids," which soon became very popular 
 in Moscow. During that season Nicholas Rubinstein 
 organised a concert in the Grand Theatre on behalf 
 of the sufferers from the famine in Finland, and 
 suggested that Tchaikovsky should conduct his own 
 dances. This was his debut .■zs, a conductor, and 
 Kashkin describes the anxiety he felt on his friend's 
 behalf. Just before the ordeal Kashkin went behind 
 the scenes of the theatre to see how Tchaikovsky' 
 was feeling. He said that, to his great surprise, he 
 did not feel in the least nervous, and Kashkin 
 returned, to his seat. . But when the new conductor 
 
Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 1 9 
 
 actually found himself face to face with the vast 
 audience, all his courage ebbed away. He com- 
 pletely lost, his head, and practically forgot to 
 conduct at all. Fortunately the band were well 
 acquainted with the " Dances," and thus a fiasco was 
 averted. For twenty years after this experience 
 Tchaikovsky never took up the baton again. But 
 then, circumstances having obliged him to conduct 
 a few performances of his opera Cherevichek, he 
 conquered his nervousness to a great extent, and 
 became very fond of conducting his own works. In 
 the early spring of 1868 the symphony, /Fiw/er 
 Day Dreams — rejected in St. Petersburg — met 
 with so warm a reception in Moscow that the 
 composer must have been partially consoled for its 
 first failure. 
 
 Tchaikovsky, who was on good terms with the 
 heads of the theatrical administration in Moscow, 
 had not much difficulty in getting The Voievoda 
 accepted for performance at the Grand Theatre. 
 In this matter he also had the assistance of Nicholas 
 Rubinstein, by far the most influential person in the 
 musical world of Moscow. But the troubles of the 
 unfortunate composer, only began with the acceptance 
 of his work. At that time Italian opera reigned 
 triumphant in Russia, while Russian opera played 
 the part of Cinderella to her more splendid sister. 
 Old scenery, cast-ofiF dresses, second -r^te artists, 
 were considered good enough, for National. Opera. 
 Russian composers were not even permitted the 
 advantage of the full orchestra, which was reserved 
 
20 Tchaikovsky 
 
 exclusively for Italian nights ; they had to put up 
 with the small and inferior " ballet orchestra." 
 
 Merelli, the manager of the Italian company, 
 rented the Grand Theatre about five nights a week, 
 and was practically the master of the situation. At 
 the rehearsals Tchaikovsky suffered a great deal. 
 He was inexperienced, and does not seem to have 
 distributed his parts judiciously, though the material 
 at his command was, at the best, very unpromising, 
 
 Finocchi, who sang the part of the Voievoda, was 
 a second-rate Italian singer, who had, moreover, the 
 greatest difficulty in singing his part in the Russian 
 language. Madame Menshikov, the soprano, who 
 appeared as Maria Vasilievna, had a fine voice, but 
 no discipline. The singers were not unwilling, but 
 their capabilities, as musicians, were of a very poor 
 order. For example, the whole of the final quartet 
 of one act had to be cut out, because one voice part 
 contained triplets as against two equal notes in 
 another, and this proved an insuperable difficulty to 
 the performers. 
 
 I Tchaikovsky's shy and sensitive disposition made 
 It extremely painful to him to criticise or find fault 
 iwith the singers. At the rehearsals, too, he began ^ 
 to discover, too late for alteration, many of his own ■ 
 mistakes of inexperience. He was in despair, says 
 Kashkin, and only longed for the ordeal to be over. 
 Nicholas Rubinstein twice attended the rehearsals,,, 
 and went away angry with the cpmposer's apparently 
 supine amiability, which was really only the expression 
 of a fatalistic resignation. The first perfor-mafice^of 
 
His Life and Works 21 
 
 The yoievoda took place on 30th January 1,869. ^^ 
 was given in all about ten times — not such a bad 
 record for a national opera in those days. Kashkin, 
 who has forgotten many of the details of the per- 
 formance, thinks that the music, though not strong, 
 was rather popular, and that the libretto, which was 
 a kind of Italian opera travesty of Ostrovsky's fine 
 work, was the poorest part of the work. After- 
 wards Tchaikovsky burnt the score, partly' perhaps 
 from a feeling of disappointment, though no doubt 
 the fact of his having incorporated some of the 
 music into a new opera, The Oprichnik, would account 
 for this destruction of The Voievoda. Twenty years 
 later Arensky wrote an opera, A Dream on the 
 Volga, upon the same subject. This work Tchai- 
 kovsky admired very much, and valued more highly 
 than his own immature effort. 
 
 The Voievoda was followed by a fantasia for 
 orchestra, entitled Destiny (Fatum). Although the 
 composer never revealed the fact, Kashkin thinks 
 that some autobiographical interest attaches to this 
 work. The following quotation from the poet 
 Batioushkov served as a motto to " Destiny " : — 
 
 Thou knowest what the white-haired Melchisedek 
 Said when he left this life : Man is born a slave ; 
 A slave he dies. Will even Death reveal to him 
 Why thus he laboured in this vale of tears, 
 Why thus he suffered, wept, endured — then vanished ? 
 
 These words were suggested to Tchaikovsky as an 
 appropriate epigraph after the completion of the 
 
22 Tchaikovsky 
 
 work, but the public took them as a sort of pro- 
 gramme, and sought in the music for some definite 
 connection with the words. The fantasia was per- 
 formed on 15th March 1869, with some success. 
 Tchaikovsky afterwards destroyed the score of 
 Destiny, but as he was fully aware of the existence 
 of all the orchestral parts, it may be presumed that 
 a restoration of this work would not be altogether 
 disrespectful to the wishes of the composer. 
 I About this time he first made the acquaintance of 
 i Balakirev, the talented leader of the nationalist 
 [school. In 1867 Balakirev had succeeded Anton 
 Rubinstein as conductor of the St. Petersburg 
 Musical Society, and head of the Conservatoire. 
 He took advantage of this position to forward the 
 interests of the rising school of Russian composers, 
 and among these he included Tchaikovsky. But 
 these nationalist tendencies did not find favour with 
 the committee of management, and he was compelled 
 to resign both positions after a brief tenure of office. 
 Tchaikovsky wrote a letter to the Sovrimenie Lietopis, 
 protesting with great indignation against the injustice 
 done to Balakirev, and this led to a friendship 
 between the two musicians. In the spring of 1869 
 Balakirev moved from St. Petersburg to Moscow, 
 and the relations grew still more intimate. To 
 Balakirev's suggestion Tchaikovsky pwed_ jhe plan 
 oi_^^^_Romeo and Juliet overture. " This is always 
 associated in"m"y'mind^" writes M. Kashkin, "with 
 the memory of a lovely day in May, with verdant 
 forests and tall fir trees, among which we three were 
 
His Life and Works 23 
 
 taking a walk. Balakirev understood, to a great 
 extent, the nature of Tchaikovsky's genius, and 
 knew that it was adequate to the subject he sug- 
 gested. Evidently he himself was taken with the 
 subject, for he explained all the details as vividly as 
 though the work had been already written. The 
 plan, adapted to sonato form, was as follows : First, 
 an introduction of a religious character, representative 
 of Friar Lawrence, followed by an Allegro in B minor 
 (Balakirev suggested most of the tonalities), which 
 was to depict the enmity between the Montagues and 
 Capulets, the street brawl, etc. Then was to follow 
 the love of Romeo and Juliet (second subject in D 
 flat major), succeeded by the elaboration of both 
 subjects. The so-called ' development ' — that is to 
 say, the putting together of the various themes in 
 various forms — passes over to what is called, in 
 technical language, the 'recapitulation' — in which 
 the first theme, Allegro, appears in its original form, 
 and the love-theme (D flat major) now appears in 
 D major, the whole ending with the death of the 
 lovers. Balakirev spoke with such conviction that 
 he at once kindled the ardour of the young composer, 
 to whom such a theme was extremely well suited." 
 Tchaikovsky returned from his holiday in September 
 with the overture practically finished. He had put 
 his heart into the work, which seems to throb with 
 youthful passion and tenderness. His friends were 
 enthusiastic over its beauties, and prophesied a great 
 success. But an adverse fate seemed always tol 
 await the first performances of Tchaikovsky's works.l 
 
24 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Romeo and Juliet was given at one of the concerts 
 of the Musical Society on 4th March 1870. It 
 chanced that just at that time a student of the 
 Conservatoire, resenting a reprimand which had been 
 administered by the director, Nicholas Rubinstein, 
 brought an action against him, and, owing to the 
 absence of any legal code applying to the institution, 
 won a technical victory. Public opinion was all in 
 favour of Rubinstein, and when, on the evening of 
 4th March, he appeared upon the platform to conduct 
 the new overture, he was received with the most 
 frantic demonstration, while Tchaikovsky's music 
 was completely forgotten in the excitement. The 
 Romeo and Juliet overture was afterwards published 
 by Bote and Bock, of Berlin, in 1871, and under- 
 went many changes before it attained its present 
 curtailed form, as seen in a second edition of the 
 same published in 1881. Somewhere about this 
 time, Tchaikovsky received the plot of a fantastic 
 opera, entitled Mandragora. The composer seems 
 to have been much attracted to the subject, and 
 only relinquished it with great regret when M. 
 Kashkin had convinced him of its being quite un- 
 suited for operatic treatment. Only one number of 
 Mandragora was ever heard in public, the " Chorus 
 of Insects," which was very popular, both in Moscow 
 and St. Petersburg. It is highly melodious, and 
 recalls in character Mendelssohn's music to J Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream. 
 
 Now that the announcement of some of Tchai- 
 kovsky's works is sufficient to draw a crowded and 
 
His Life and Works 25 
 
 enthusiastic audience, it is pathetic to look back 
 upon the constant series of disappointments which 
 awaited him in his early days. Few composers have- 
 been more unlucky with their first works than this 
 gentle and sensitive artist, possessed with an almost 
 feSliliine~craving_„fbr _approYal and jencouragement." 
 A certain hyper-sensitiveness to the criticism" of his 
 artistic schemes led to a characteristic reticence on 
 the part of Tchaikovsky. Consequently few people 
 ever heard of the creation and untimely end of his 
 opera Undine. The idea was probably suggested by 
 the ready-made libretto which Count Sollogoub had 
 written for A. Th. Lvov as early as 1848, and which 
 was republished in Smirdin's edition of this author's 
 works. The opera was finished early in 1870, and 
 sent to St. Petersburg for the approval of the 
 Theatrical Direction. Once he had completed and 
 posted the score, and thus practically burnt his boats, 
 Tchaikovsky spoke of the opera to a few intimate 
 friends and played them some numbers from the 
 work. Undine was rejected unconditionally, and the 
 score, mislaid by the carelessness of some official, 
 whom Tchaikovsky was too good-natured to expose, 
 was not returned to him until some years later, 
 when he destroyed it. One air, " Undine's Song," 
 afterwards appeared as Lei's air in his music to 
 Ostrovsky's "Snow Maiden." He took the re- 
 jection of his opera more philosophically than might 
 be expected ; but his mind was already occupied with 
 a new scheme — the opera which afterwards appeared 
 as The Ofrichnik. 
 
26 Tchaikovsky 
 
 " Tchaikovsky," says Kashkin, " did...not_AeYQte 
 himself to the serious study of music unt]l_com- 
 paratively late ; consequently he had not those definite 
 and settfed views upon music which seem a part of 
 those who have grown up from childhood in a 
 musical environment and have imbibed certain ideas 
 and sympathies with life itself. He was obliged to 
 acquire all this by means of hard work and the study 
 of musical literature. As far as I can remember at 
 that period (1870), he did not read orchestral-Scores 
 with great ease, and preferred to make acquaintance 
 with symphonic literature by the help of pianoforte 
 arrangements for four hands, when I was often his 
 partner at the piano. Of chamber music— especially 
 string quartets — he knew very little at that time, 
 and even the very character of this kind of music 
 he appreciated with difficulty. The mere quality 
 and timbre of the string q.uartet provoked in him 
 nothing I but wea.riness in those days, and he could 
 hardly endure Beethoven's later quartets. He con- 
 fessed to me once that he could scarcely keep awake 
 in his seat through Beethoven's great A minor 
 quartet. As to the combination of piano and 
 stringed instruments, he admired many works of 
 this class, especially those of Beethoven ; but said he 
 could not imagine himself writing for,, such a com- 
 bination of instruments." Before, long, hosrever, he 
 greatly modified his opinion, and even set to work 
 upon this particular form of composition. Tchai- 
 kovsky was very anxious to spend the summer of 
 1 871 abroad, but had no funds at his disposal. At 
 
His Life and Works 27 
 
 the suggestion of Nicholas Rubinstein, he resolved to 
 giv i a concert for his own benefit and produce some 
 nev r work. As everything had to be organised on a 
 mo lest and economical scale, there was no possibility 
 of engaging an orchestra, and Tchaikovsky was 
 driven to write his J^rst. string quartet in D. Thej 
 Aniante of this work has an interesting history,! 
 snowing how Tchaikovsky valued national airs, and 
 the cleverness with which he made use of them on 
 occksion. 
 
 For several mornings the composer was awakened 
 by the singing of a plasterer working upon the house 
 jusr below his window. The workman's song 
 haunted Tchaikovsky, who wrote down the air, and 
 afterwards, at dinner-time, he sought out the singer 
 and asked him to sing the words. They proved 
 uninteresting, indeed almost devoid of meaning, as 
 is so often the case with the townsfolk's version of 
 th^ peasant's songs. The melody in its original form 
 appears as No. 14 in Rimsky-Korsakov's collection of 
 "IV Hundred National Russian Songs." 
 
 Tchaikovsky's first concert, though not a colossal 
 suqcess, realised a sufficient sum to allow of his carry- 
 ing out his trip abroad. Among the audience was 
 the great novelist Turgeniev, who seems to have 
 be£ :n impressed by Tchaikovsky's genius. 
 
 In 1870, Tchaikovsky's circumstances having 
 considerably improved, he moved — greatly to the 
 rcf ;i'et of Nicholas Rubinstein — into lodgings of his 
 ^wn. His way of life, even then, was by no means 
 luxurious. He kept but one servant, a young 
 
2 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 country fellow, whose culinary skill never advan ced 
 beyond an unvarying daily dish of cabbage-soup : md 
 groats. But the composer was not fastidious, and 
 in his new home he found the absolute quiet so 
 indispensable for his creative work. 
 
 " About this time," writes M. Kashkin, " Tel ai- 
 kovsky greatly admired a.J,a_dyL_w]lO-.5anglin :he | 
 Italian Opera Company. He was attractecPBy iSr 
 tal'eiif as a singer, her ready wit, and brilliant c( m- 
 versational powers. His friends believed that he 
 had fallen in love with this fascinating artist, and 
 rumour had already decided their future, when the 
 opera company left Moscow for Warsaw. During 
 their visit to the Polish capital a telegram arriv ed, 
 announcing the unexpected news of her marriage to 
 another member of the company. Tchaikovi iky 
 seemed more_ astonished^, than hurt ; but wh en, 
 during the following season, the lady reappea red 
 in Moscow, he was moved — even to tears — at the 
 first sight of her upon the stage. Seven or eij ;ht 
 years later I was present at an unexpected meeti ng 
 between Tchaikovsky and this singer. He had g( 'ne 
 to call upon Nicholas Rubinstein at the Conservato: re, 
 but7XB~being told that he _waa engaged with., a k dy 
 in his private room, we sat down in the ante-room 
 to wait until the visitor should take her departu re. 
 Presently the door jjpened and thelady appear ;d. 
 TcHaikovsky recognised her at X glaHceanaspra ng 
 from his seat, turning ver_y:^ale. The lady gave a 
 little cry of alarm, and in her confusion beggin to 
 fumble for the door of the half-lighted ante-room. 
 
His Life and Works 29 
 
 Having found it, she fled without a word. Nicholas 
 Rubinstein, who had followed her out, stood a silent 
 and astonished spectator of this little scene." A 
 year or two later Tchaikovsky met the lady, once 
 more, while travelling abroad, and resumed his 
 friendly relations with her. He still admired her 
 gifted and charming disposition, but his passion — if 
 it ever existed, save in his own imagination — had 
 quite worn itself out. At any rate, he assured 
 M. Kashkin, his feelings at that time were purely 
 platonic. 
 
 About the same time that he was engaged upon 
 the opera Undine, Tchaikovsky wrote hisjirst songs: 
 Six Songs (op. 6). These songs, though by no means 
 the best that Tchaikovsky has written, are sufficiently 
 characteristic to foreshadow most of his virtues and 
 defects as a song-writer. There is no denying thel 
 extraordinary charm, the penetrating sweetness and 
 melancholy, the vocal excellence of many of Tchai-j 
 kovsky's songs. At the same time, if we compare 
 him in this respect with Schubert and Schumann, 
 with Brahms and Franz, or with his fellow-country- 
 men Dargomijsky and Balakirev, it is impossible to 
 regard him as one of the greatest among song- 
 writers. Nearly all his songs would be condemned 
 if tried by^^is standard of forro^ His 
 
 greatest" weakness as a song-writer lies in the fact 
 that hejieyerj-ealised the_principle-that, in the ideal 
 song, music and poetrym ust meet upon, an equal 
 f opting r "TReTunion of the two arts," says Cui, 
 " appeared to Tchaikovsky in the light of a mes- 
 
30 Tchaikovsky 
 
 alliance for the one which he represented." Starting 
 "with this idea, that music is the only element of real 
 importance in song, Tchaikovsky does not hesitate 
 to mutilate the text of the greatest poets, to inter- 
 polate such exclamations as " good heavens," " alas," 
 "woe is me," and occasionally by a stroke of his 
 arbitrary pen to turn fine verse into indifferent prose. 
 Perhaps it was on account of his contempt for poetry 
 as the "worser half" of music that he has set com- 
 paratively few words by the great Russian poets, 
 and prefers the efflisions of such poetasters as 
 Grekov and Sourikoy. A fault which is common 
 in Tchaikovsky's orchestral music is also noticeable 
 in his songs. Not always very fastidious in his 
 choice of musical ideas, he seems to find a difficulty 
 in quitting them. He will develop, vary, and repeat 
 an idea with a kind of mechanical skilfulness which 
 becomes wearisome. He had not the qualities of 
 terseness and concentration which go to the making 
 of a perfect song. Another fault — though many 
 may consider it an added fascination — in Tchai- 
 kovsky's songs is the monotonous vein of sentimental 
 melancholy. The great preponderance of the"'' tear- 
 fi^ minor" in his songs suggests an unhealthy 
 condition of mind. And I would point out~thTs 
 difference between Tchaikovsky's melancholy and 
 that of his fellow-countrymen, of whom we may take 
 Moussorgsky as a characteristic type : that in the 
 first instance it is subjective, and sometimes artificial ; 
 while in the second it is objective and called into 
 being by the sufferings of others. It is just the 
 
His Life and Works 31 
 
 diiFerence between " la belle melancholie," so assid- 
 uously cultivated by Lamartine and his contem- 
 poraries, and " la tristesse de la verite," which shows 
 so grimly in modern realism. But although these 
 depreciative remarks apply to a large proportion 
 of Tchaikovsky's songs, especially his early ones, 
 there are a few which show the master-hand, many 
 potentially fine songs in spite of their want of form, 
 and many, again, which we would not have otherwise 
 than they are — songs we cannot criticise when 
 we hear them, because they take our feelings by 
 storm. 
 
 In 1 87 1 the Society of the Friends of National 
 Science celebrated the bicentenary of the birth of 
 Peter the Great by what was called the Polytechnic 
 Exhibition. For the opening ceremony Tchaikovsky 
 was commissioned to write a cantata to an appropriate 
 libretto by the poet Polonsky. The work was heard 
 once, and then — with the exception of some material 
 introduced later on into the Third Symphony — all 
 trace of it wholly disappeared. Tchaikovsky during 
 the next year or two was so deeply engaged upon his 
 new works, especially The Oprichnik, that he com- 
 pletely forgot this composition and took no steps to 
 save it from oblivion. During the following year 
 (1872) Tchaikovsky published his Harmony Primer, 
 which has been adopted as one of the text-books at 
 the Moscow Conservatoire. 
 
 During the rebuilding of the Little Theatre in 
 1873, all the companies — dramatic, operatic, and 
 ballet — were obliged to take refuge on the boards 
 
3 2 Tchaikovsky 
 
 of the Great Theatre. Under these conditions it 
 occurred to M. Begichev, the inspector of the theatri- 
 cal repertory, to utilise the services of the entire 
 force in a kind of fairy play. Ostrovsky undertook 
 the libretto, and chose for his subject the legend of 
 the " Snow Queen " — Snegourotchka ; while the music 
 was entrusted to Tchaikovsky. Both the author and 
 the musician took immense pleasure in their task. 
 The sudden waking of the Russian spring never failed 
 to stir Tchaikovsky, and this season always found 
 him in his most exalted poetical mood. The com- 
 position of the music to this legend of springtide 
 coincided with the coming of spring itself. In little 
 more than three weeks the score was completed, in 
 spite of the fact that Tchaikovsky was working 
 twenty-seven hours a week at the Conservatoire. 
 The first performance of The Snow Queen took place 
 on nth May 1873, but although its interpretation 
 was undertaken by the best artists, and no expense 
 spared in the mounting of the piece, it was not a 
 success. The lack of dramatic interest outweighed 
 the charm of the music. Shortly after the production 
 of The Snow Queen, Tchaikovsky, with M. Kashkin, 
 Nicholas Rubinstein, and one or two of the leading 
 artists taking part in the piece, made an excursion to 
 Vorobiev's Hill, a favourite resort in the neighbour- 
 hood of Moscow. " It was a lovely spring day," 
 writes the author of the Reminiscences, "and the 
 gardens of the village of Vorobiev were white with 
 a sheet of blossom. Under the influence of spring 
 and The Snow Queen, we were all in a very happy 
 
His Life and Works 33 
 
 mood. The peasants soon gathered round to watch 
 ' the quality ' take their meal al fresco on the grass, 
 and Nicholas Rubinstein arranged a real rustic feast, 
 having bought for the peasants such sweets and wine 
 as he could find in the village shops. Nicholas 
 Rubinstein was very fond of genuine folk-music, and 
 invited the peasants to sing. They needed no press- 
 ing, and soon started their choral dances. This 
 scene must have always remained in Tchaikovsky's 
 mind, and it was resuscitated years later, when he 
 wrote the variations in the Pianoforte Trio, dedicated 
 to the memory of ' a great artist ' — Nicholas Rubin- 
 stein." 
 
 The Snow Queen consists of an Introduction 
 to the play, of several entr'actes and dances, and 
 includes a few choruses and solo numbers. The 
 music is fresh and melodious, though not always 
 of a high quality. The Introduction and the 
 second entr'acte are the most successful parts of 
 the work. Berezovsky considers that in some 
 parts The Snow Queen shows that Tchaikovsky 
 was very much influenced by Schumann at the time. 
 Rimsky-Korsakov has also written a fairy opera to 
 Ostrovsky's text, which, as regards imaginative 
 treatment and national colouring, is superior to 
 Tchaikovsky's work. 
 
 Some time during the early spring of 1874, 
 Tchaikovsky finished his Second Quartet in F major, 
 and it was privately performed at Nicholas Rubin- 
 stein's rooms in the presence of his more illustrious 
 brother Anton. This occasion may serve as an 
 
 D 
 
34 Tchaikovsky 
 
 example of the inexplicable attitude of Anton Rubin- 
 stein towards the compositions of his former pupil. 
 " I know," writes M. Kashkin, " that Rubinstein 
 was very fond of Tchaikovsky as a man, and valued 
 his talent very highly, but at the same time he took 
 an almost hostile view of the majority of his composi- 
 tions, especially the great ones. As a pianist he 
 almost ignored Tchaikovsky's works. . . . The 
 Qjuartet in F major was played before a very small 
 audience ; besides the players Laut, Grijimal, Fitzen- 
 hagen, and Herber — who, I believe, played second 
 violin— there were present only Albrecht, Hubert, 
 Anton Rubinstein, and myself. All the time the 
 music went on, Rubinstein listened with a lowering, 
 discontented expression, and at the end, with ' his 
 usual brutal frankness, he said that it was not in the 
 least in the style of chamber music ; that he himself 
 could not understand the composition, etc. The 
 audience as well as the players went into ecstasies ; 
 but the one listener whose appreciation meant most 
 to the composer obstinately stuck to his own 
 opinion. One word from him would have been 
 more valued than all other praise or success, but 
 Tchaikovsky was not destined to hear that word, 
 and he was evidently deeply hurt by Rubinstein's 
 cutting remarks. It did not, however, shake his 
 devotion to his former master. When, about a 
 year later, he dedicated one of his piano pieces to. 
 Tchaikovsky, the latter was delighted, and replied 
 by dedicating to Anton Rubinstein his Six Pieces 
 on one Theme (op. 21); but he received no acknow- 
 
His Life and Works 35 
 
 ledgment, and the great virtuoso never played one 
 of these pieces in public." 
 
 From 1872 to 1876 Tchaikovsky acted as musical 
 critic to the Sovremennaya Lie topis and the Russky 
 Vestnik. 
 
Ill 
 
 In 1872 the Conservatoires of Moscow and St. Peters- 
 burg had the misfortune to lose their most influential 
 patroness, the Grand Duchess Helena Paulovna. 
 Shortly before her death she had requested her 
 favourite composer, Serov, to write an opera upon 
 the subject of Gogol's " Christmas Eve Revels," for 
 which Polonsky prepared the libretto. But Serov, 
 who was just then engaged upon his opera The Power 
 of Evil^ had only time to complete one number of 
 the new work when death put an end to his labours, 
 and he breathed his last only an hour later than his 
 patroness the Grand Duchess. Out of respect to the 
 memory of this remarkable woman, the directors of 
 the Imperial Musical Society resolved to carry out 
 her wishes respecting this opera, and a competition was 
 organised for the best setting of Vakoula the Smiih 
 {Kouznetz Fakoula), a.s Polonsky 'slibretto was entitled. 
 Tchaikovsky had not hitherto been very success- 
 ful in his operatic works, and he hesitated for some 
 time to take part in this competition. Consequently, 
 
Tchaikovsky ; his Life and Works 37 
 
 when at last he decided to do so, he was obliged to 
 work very rapidly in order to finish the opera by 
 August 1874. Seven works were sent in for 
 approval, and both the first and second prizes were 
 awarded to Tchaikovsky's composition. All his 
 friends were interested in the new work, and, en- 
 couraged by his success, Tchaikovsky, contrary to 
 custom, volunteered to play through the whole score 
 to a select audience of intimate friends. He was too 
 nervous, however, to do justice to the work. " The 
 performer killed the composer," and the opera, 
 rendered in a pointless and spiritless fashion, pro- 
 duced an unfavourable impression which the audience 
 could scarcely disguise. Afterwards, when the 
 printed score appeared, his friends recognised with 
 astonishment that KouznetzVakoula was one of Tchai- 
 kovsk y's strongest dramatic efforts. The work was first 
 performed at the Marinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, 
 in November 1876. It was sumptuously mounted, 
 and the parts entrusted to picked artists. Even the 
 small role of the Golova (headman of the village) was 
 taken by Petrov, the renowned doyen of the Russian 
 stage. Kouznetz Vakoula was received with enthusi- 
 asm, but its success was ephemeral. The public had 
 expected a light comic opera in the French style, 
 and did not appreciate the national element in 
 Tchaikovsky's music. It was given about seventeen 
 times, and then disappeared from the repertory. The 
 composer himself_considered tWs^peraone jof his best 
 works. _ Later on he remodelled it under the title 
 cTCherevichek (" The little Shoes "). 
 
3 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 The year 1873 saw the production of two Im- 
 portant orchestral compositions : the Second Sym- 
 phony in C minor, and the orchestral fantasia on 
 the subject of Shakespeare's Tempest. Tchaikovsky's 
 Second Symphony, which was written a year or 
 Two Uefore the opera Vakoula the Smith, is one of 
 the most interesting examples of purely Russian 
 symphonic music, and has been aptly called the 
 Little-Russian Symphony, because its first and last 
 movements are based on Malo-Russian melodies. It 
 may here be noted that the difference between the 
 folk-music of the Great Russians and the Male- 
 Russians is as great as the difference in character 
 between the two races ; consequently this symphony 
 has a peculiar character of its own to which it owes 
 its title, and not — as one critic has sapiently observed 
 — to the fact that it is based on small Russian themes. 
 The -Second^^ymphony is perhaps the mo st di s- 
 tinctively national QfjJl Tchaikovsky's works. The 
 first Allegro is preceded by an Introduction founded 
 on a beautiful melody of an elegiac character which 
 runs straight into the Allegro. The first subject of 
 this movement is a variant of the well-known air, 
 " Down by Mother Volga." This is one of the songs 
 associated with the Cossack robber Stenka Razin, 
 whose " rebellious head " — as the ballad has it — was 
 cut off in the Red Square, at Moscow, in 1671, and 
 it is a great favourite among Russian students. The 
 second movement, Andantino marciale, has one very 
 interesting subject which the composer borrowed 
 from the march in Undine, the unpublished opera of 
 
His Life and Works 39 
 
 which he had destroyed the score. The Finale, which 
 is generally considered the best movement of the 
 symphony, has two remarkable themes treated in 
 variation form. The first of these is taken from the 
 Little-Russian song called " The Crane " ; the second 
 — a beautiful melody — is original. The symphony 
 is full of vitality, movement, and racy humour, and, 
 according to Berezovsky, it shows in sentiment and 
 workmanship a strong reflection of Glinka's influence. 
 It was first performed in Moscow at a concert of the 
 Russian Musical Society in 1873, and was received 
 with great applause, but Tchaikovsky, who was easily 
 discouraged when his own work was in question, was 
 persuaded by some hypercritical friends to make 
 great changes in the symphony before it was 
 published. " I always preferred the original form," 
 says Kashkin, " and fortunately it might be restored, 
 at least for purposes of comparison, for the orchestral 
 parts used at the first performance are still preserved 
 in the library of the Moscow Conservatoire." 
 
 A work of a totally diff"erent character was the 
 symphonic fantasia The Tempest, composed during 
 a month's holiday at a country house in the govern- 
 ment of Tambov. It was written to a programme 
 suggested by M. Vladimir Stassov, who has so often 
 inspired the composers for the New Russian school 
 with subjects for musical illustration. M. Stassov in 
 one of his letters has given me the following account 
 of its origin : — 
 
 "In 1872 I was very intimate with Tchaikovsky, 
 and in constant correspondence with him. As he 
 
40 Tchaikovsky- 
 
 had observed with pleasure the various subjects for 
 overtures, operas, and symphonies which I had 
 recently suggested to some of my friends among the 
 Russian composers, he asked me to find him a suit- 
 able subject for an overture. At first I refused, 
 saying that for each individual composer one must 
 only choose a theme completely in keeping with his 
 nature and temperament, and that I did not feel that 
 I knew his tastes and disposition well enough to 
 undertake the task. ' However, he would not accept 
 my refusal, and wrote me several letters, pressing me 
 to yield, and saying that no one was more capable than 
 myself of finding a subject which would fascinate him. 
 I then gave in, and having tried him with several 
 subjects — beginning with Scott's " Kenilworth," which 
 did not please him much — I finally proposedShake- 
 speare's Tempest, a subject I had been mad about ever 
 slhce my young days. Tchaikovsky was delighted, 
 and wrote me back a warm reply, saying nothing 
 could have suited him better, that he was full of 
 enthusiasm, and could think of nothing else. He 
 accepted my programme in all its details, without the 
 least change, and the work, he said, must and should 
 be dedicated to no one but myself. Shortly after- 
 wards all this was faithfully carried out." 
 
 Stassov's programme stands as follows : " The sea. 
 Ariel, spirit of the air, raises a tempest in obedience 
 to the will of the enchanter Prospero. Wreck of 
 the vessel conveying Ferdinand. The enchanted 
 island. The first shy awakening of love between 
 Miranda and Ferdinand. Ariel. Caliban. The 
 
His Life and Works 41 
 
 enamoured pair give themselves up to the magic of 
 love. Prospero divests himself of his powers of 
 enchantment and quits the island. The sea." The 
 subjects are fresh and poetical. The picture of the 
 sea, both in storm and in undulating calm, is highly 
 effective ; especially the chords for trombones in the 
 lower register, which give a wonderful sense of 
 strength and repose. The Ariel theme is very 
 sprightly, and treated with appropriate lightness and 
 grace. It is followed by a bold, rough figure, given 
 out by celli and basses, which effectively symbolises 
 the uncouth Caliban. Prospero's Leitmotif, which 
 has almost a religious character, seems the least 
 appropriate of all these characteristic themes. The 
 most noticeable fault of the fantasia is one commonj 
 to most of Tchaikovsky's works, namely the irritat-l 
 ing repetition of certain phrases which finally weariesj 
 the nerves of the hearer and ends in a temporary/ 
 suspension of interest. The Tempest was performed 
 at the Paris Exhibition in 1873, and was enlhusi- 
 asticallyj;eceived . 
 
 ~To this period belongs the. P^ianoforte Concerto in 
 B flat minor (op. .2^;^.. M. Kashkm gives an interest- 
 ing account of the birth of this work. He writes : — 
 " Tchaikovsky, who had long had it in his mind 
 to compose a pianoforte concerto for Nicholas 
 Rubinstein, set about this work in the winter of 
 1874. The task proved a difficult one, because the 
 invention of passages for the piano combined with 
 orchestra did not come easily to him ; but he did 
 not shrink from difficulties, and in February 1875 
 
42 Tchaikovsky 
 
 the composition was quite ready. Tchaikovsky took 
 the finished score to Nicholas Rubinstein, and on the 
 title-page was inscribed the dedication to him. 
 Tchaikovsky himself was very well satisfied with his 
 composition, upon which he had worked hard and 
 with zeal. The composer looked forward to the 
 fullest approval, more especially as his friend and 
 adviser always evinced the warmest Interest in his 
 compositions and his talent generally. This time it 
 turned out very differently. Nicholas Rubinstein, it 
 appeared, was disagreeably surprised that Tchaikovsky 
 — not being a pianist — had not asked his advice about 
 the piano part, and therefore he showed prejudice 
 and hostility as regards this work. At the trial of 
 the concerto N. A. Hubert and myself were the only 
 auditors. Nicholas Rubinstein, who read admirably 
 at sight, started the concerto, and began finding fault 
 with everything, but especially with the piano 
 technique. He played even with a certain intentional 
 clumsiness, finding it all unsuitably written, too 
 difficult, and finally declaring it altogether unplayable 
 from this point of view, and in need of great alteration. 
 N. A. Hubert did not pronounce a definite judg- 
 ment, but seemed to agree with Rubinstein ; while 
 Tchaikovsky was burning with anger against them 
 both. Generally speaking, he had so great a respect 
 for Nicholas Rubinstein as a pianist and musician 
 that no doubt he would have agreed with him as to 
 all the alterations if his criticisms had been made in 
 a more conciliatory spirit ; but so harsh a judgment 
 merely irritated him, and he resolved to publish the 
 
His Life and Works 43 
 
 concerto without altering a single note; only the 
 original dedication was struck out and replaced by 
 one to Hans von Biilow, whose acquaintance 
 Tchaikovsky had made during the previous year. 
 Von Biilow was delighted with the concerto, as 
 I saw from a letter of his to Tchaikovsky, which 
 was shown to me ; and as he was just starting on a 
 long concert tour in America, he included in his 
 programme the work which had been dedicated to 
 him. Thus it happened that Tchaikovsky's B flat 
 minor Concerto was heard for the first time in 
 Boston, U.S.A. Biilow sent Tchaikovsky a telegram 
 announcing the brilliant success of his work. Of 
 course this news gratified the composer ; but just 
 then he happened to be very short of money, and it 
 was not without some compunction that he spent it 
 all in answering the message. In Moscow the con- 
 certo was played for the first time by S. J. Taneievy 
 with great success ; and afterwards Nicholas Rubinstein 
 actually learnt it, and his playing of it was such as 
 one could hardly hear from any other artist. He 
 had a particular success with it at the Russian concerts 
 at the Paris Exhibition of 1878." Speaking of this 
 work, Mr. C. A. Barry says : " That N. Rubinstein 
 was not altogether over-severe in his strictures of 
 Tchaikovsky's piano technique, appears from the 
 fact that at a subsequent date Tchaikovsky thoroughly 
 overhauled his work, and issued a new and revised 
 edition of it in 1889, when it was found that 
 the pianoforte part had, to a great extent, been 
 rewritten." 
 
IV 
 
 Tchaikovsky worked with untiring perseverance, 
 but the occupation of teaching grew more distasteful 
 to him year by year. He dreamt of an ideal life in 
 some quiet country place where he could give himself 
 up entirely to composition. But he believed such an 
 ideal existence to be, if not quite unattainable, at least 
 very remote. The manner in which his dream was 
 ultimately fulfilled reads like a fairy tale. In 1878 
 |a lady, who preferred to keep her identity concealed, 
 and who was not personally known to the composer, 
 jmade it possible by her generous initiative for him to 
 give up his classes at the Conservatoire and devote 
 all his time to the creation of new works. Already 
 in 1874 his improved means had permitted him to 
 move from the small rooms in the Gudrinsky Place 
 into a cosy flat, where he remained until his marriage 
 in 1877. 
 
 In 1874 Tchaikovsky completed a new_opera, 
 T/ie_Oft:ichnik, in which he incorporated/ a good deal 
 of musical material from The Voievoda and his 
 
Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 45 
 
 symphonic poem Destiny. The Oprichnik is some- 
 times translated by the somewhat misleading title of 
 "The Lifeguardsman." The Oprichniks were a 
 band of dissdute jroung noblemen, the chosen body- 
 guardT'oTTyan the Terrible, who_ swore by fearful and 
 unnatural oaths to carry out every command of the 
 despot they served. Sometimes they masqueraded in 
 the dressof monks, but they were in reality robbers 1 
 and murderers, hated and feared by the people whom! 
 they oppressed. Andrew Morozov, the descendant 
 of a noble but impoverished house, and the only son 
 of the widowed Lady Morozova, is in love with the 
 beautiful Natalia, daughter of Prince Jemchoujny. 
 His poverty disqualifies him as a suitor. While 
 desperately in need of money, Andrew falls in with 
 Basmanov, a young Oprichnik, who persuades him to 
 join the community, telling him that an Oprichnik 
 can always fill his own pockets. Andrew consents, and 
 takes the customary oath of celibacy. Afterwards 
 circumstances cause him to break his vow and marry 
 Natalia against her father's wish. Prince Viazminsky, 
 the leader of the Oprichniks, cherishes an old grudge 
 against the family of Morozov, and works for Andrew's 
 downfall. On his wedding-day he breaks in upon 
 the feast with a message from the Tsar. Ivan the 
 Terrible has heard of the bride's beauty, and desires 
 her attendance at the royal apartments. Andrew, 
 with gloomy forebodings in his heart, prepares to 
 escort his bride, when Viazminsky, with a meaning 
 smile, explains that the invitation is for the bride 
 alone. Andrew refuses to let his wife go into the 
 
46 Tchaikovsky 
 
 tyrant's presence unprotected. Viazminsky proclaims 
 him a rebel and a traitor to his vows. Natalia is 
 carried away by force, and the Oprichniks lead 
 Andrew into the market-place to suffer the death- 
 penalty at their hands. Meanwhile Lady Morozova, 
 who had cast off her son when he became an 
 Oprichnik, has softened towards him, and comes to 
 seek him on his wedding-day. She enters the deserted 
 hall where Viazminsky, alone, is gloating over the 
 success of his intrigue. She inquires unsuspectingly 
 for Andrew, and he leads her to the window. 
 Horror-stricken, she witnesses the execution of her 
 own son by his brother Oprichniks, and falls dead at 
 the feet of her implacable en^my. 
 
 Tchaikovsky himself is answerable for the plot of 
 the opera, and it would be difficult to find anything 
 .more tragic, even in the gloomy and blood-stained 
 pages of mediaeval Russian history ; but it certainly 
 offers great scope for dramatic development. 
 
 The opera opens with an overture in which all the 
 leading motives and chief situations in the opera are 
 more or less anticipated. The curtain rises upon the 
 garden of Prince Jemchoujny's house, where he is 
 discovered in earnest conversation with Mitkov, his 
 daughter's accepted suitor. After they have left the 
 stage, Natalia enters with her old nurse and a company 
 of young girls, and there follows a charming chorus 
 on a well-known Russian folk-song. Then the girls 
 beg Natalia for a song, and she complies with a pretty, 
 plaintive melody, very vocal, but without any marked 
 originality. Next the Oprichniks come upon the 
 
His Life and Works 47 
 
 scene, and their characteristic motive is heard in the 
 orchestra. Basmanov meets Andrew Morozov, learns 
 the secret of his depression, and offers to lend him some 
 money, advising him at the same time to cast in his 
 lot with theirs. The air " Come live among us," in 
 which Basmanov seeks to entice the young man by 
 promising him a life of adventure and full pockets in 
 the future, seems quite inappropriate, being an elegant 
 cantilena in the minor. After the solo, the orchestra 
 has some bars illustrating the wild life of the 
 Oprichniks. Andrew and Basmanov leave the garden 
 together, and Natalia reappears, and, after a short 
 recitative, sings a pretty air, "Ah, Furious Wind," 
 quite Italian in character. The act ends with a 
 second chorus of maidens, which makes an abrupt 
 transition from the Italian to the national style. 
 
 The first scene of the second act takes place in the 
 house of the Morozovs. The orchestra reflects the 
 anxious forebodings with which Lady Morozova awaits 
 her son's return. Then in an admirably characteristic 
 recitative, which seems at once to distinguish her as 
 the type of a high-minded religious woman, she 
 expresses her faith in God and her resignation in all 
 her misfortunes. Andrew now returns, and brings her 
 the money Basmanov has given him. Lady Morozova 
 refuses to touch what she knows to be the fruits of 
 robbery and murder, and, in a long and touching scene, 
 implores her son not to associate himself with the hated 
 Oprichniks. Andrew, who is devoted to his mother, 
 promises to obey her wishes. His solo in this act, 
 " The White Snow," is one of the most successful. 
 
48 Tchaikovsky 
 
 and at the same time national, numbers in the whole 
 work. 
 
 The second scene takes us into the king's palace. 
 It opens with a chorus (a capella) of the Oprichniks, 
 who, attired as monks, are seen issuing from the royal 
 oratory. At a sacrilegious word from their leader 
 they throw aside their monastic garb and reveal their 
 rich robes beneath. Basmanov introduces Andrew to 
 the community, and he takes their vow. The first 
 sacrifice demanded of him is the complete renunciation 
 of his mother and Natalia. The music which depicts, 
 Andrew's inward struggle before he consents to give 
 up all for the sake of retrieving his fortunes is often 
 full of poignant dramatic feeling. The effect is en- 
 hanced by the gloomy chorus of the Oprichniks, which 
 forms as it were the musical basis of the whole scene. 
 t Only, here again, Andrew's solo, with its occasional 
 j reminiscences of Rossini, seems out of keeping with 
 \ the rest of the music. 
 
 The third act shows a square in Moscow. The 
 townspeople are assembled, and in the opening chorus 
 they bewail " that the times are evil." Then with an 
 expression of almost fatalistic resignation and sub- 
 missive piety, which is realistically characteristic of 
 the Russian poor, they turn their lament into a touch- 
 ing and beautiful prayer : Andante religioso, " Thou, 
 God, succour us." This scene is remarkably im- 
 pressive. Lady Morozova now appears. She has 
 suffered one more misfortune in the desertion of her 
 son. She sings a pathetic recitative, "Now am I 
 lonely." The children in the square catch sight of 
 
His Life and Works 49 
 
 Lady Morozova, and hail her with insulting epithets 
 — " Mother of an Oprichnik," etc. But the older 
 people are sorry for her afflictions, which are even 
 greater than their own. She is about to enter the 
 church, when Natalia hastens in. She has fled from 
 her father and her middle-aged lover, and implores 
 Lady Morozova to succour her. Her father now 
 arrives, and orders his rebellious daughter to return 
 home. Natalia's reply is given in an aria, " As 
 before God, O father." Prince Jemchoujny will 
 not relent, and orders his servants to carry off 
 Natalia by force. His proceedings are interrupted 
 by the arrival of the Oprichniks, awakening terror 
 and hatred among the people. Andrew sees his 
 mother and rushes to embrace her, while the sinister 
 theme of the Oprichniks is heard reminding him of his 
 vows. Lady Morozova turns from her son, disowns 
 him, and solemnly curses him as an Oprichnik. The 
 end of this scene is fuU of incident, and the music 
 rises to a high level of dramatic interest. 
 
 The last act takes place in the king's palace. 
 Andrew, unable to abandon Natalia to her fate, has 
 determined to marry her in spite of his vows. The 
 curtain draws up upon the wedding-feast, and some 
 of the Oprichniks who are present sing a chorus in 
 praise of the bride. The chorus is based upon a 
 folk-song, and, though musically interesting, suffers 
 from ovjr-repetition. It is succeeded by national 
 dances, for which also folk-songs are employed. 
 The duet between Andrew and Natalia, "Ah, let the 
 feast be ended soon," has two subjects, one of which 
 
 E 
 
50 Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 
 
 Tchaikovsky transferred from his unpublished sym- 
 phonic poem Destiny. I have already described the 
 tragic ending of the opera. The curtain falls to a 
 chorus of the Oprichniks, heard oiF the stage as they 
 return from the execution of Andrew : " Hail, hail ! 
 Like the glorious sun at midday art thou, our father 
 and our Tsar." 
 
 The Oprichnik, though by no means a faultless 
 work, was a great advance on Tchaikovsky's earlier 
 operas, Undine and The Voievoda. The chief short- 
 comings are a want of unity in the style of the music ; 
 a lack of decision in the portrayal of many of the 
 characters — Lady Morozova is quite the most con- 
 vincing and real of all the dramatis personae ; an 
 occasional want of connection between the music and 
 the words, and perhaps, we must add, the unrelieved 
 gloom of the libretto. In spite of all this the opera 
 holds our attention. The music is always fluent, 
 often very impressive, and, as might be expected from 
 Tchaikovsky, it contains many beautifu l melod ies. 
 It is not surprising, therefore, thatT^ Opflchnik holds 
 its own on the Russian stage. Its immediate success 
 was sufficient to encourage Tchaikovsky to new 
 efforts in the sphere of dramatic music. 
 
 In 1875 he wrote a work in the same tonality as 
 his pianoforte concerto — the Serenade Melancholique, 
 for violin and orchestra. It is based on two very 
 interesting subjects : one of a melancholy nature, the 
 other exceedingly passionate. 
 
V 
 
 To the same year belongs his^hird Sym phony in D 
 (op. 29), a work altogether difFerent in style to his 
 two earlier ones, and totally western in character . 
 It has some emotional and intellectual affinity witk 
 the Schumann symphonies, but displays such brilli- 
 ancy of orchestration as the German master never 
 attained to. This symphony — which is exceedingly 
 popular in Russia and abroad — has, in some mysteri- 
 ous way, acgu.ired_-the title- of "The Polish." The 
 label is as misleading as unauthorised labels generally 
 are. CertainTyTHe symphony ends with an Allegro — 
 tempo di Polacca, a very alien and artificial form of 
 that genuine j^tional dance, the polonaise ; but since 
 the second movement is alia iedesca, would it not be 
 just as reasonable — and from internal evidence far 
 more appropriate — to christen the symphony "The 
 German " .? If there is not enough that is genuinely 
 Polish in the musical material of the work to warrant 
 the choice of this title, the idea that Tchaikovsky 
 here poured out his sympathy for " Poland mourning 
 
5 2 Tchaikovsky 
 
 in her oppression and rejoicing in her regeneration " 
 is still more untenable. When we remember that 
 \Tchaikovsky was exceedingly Russian._in._liis_sym- 
 pathies, and that as the writer of 1812, the Marche 
 jSIave, 'and the Triumphal Overture on the Danish 
 I Hymn, he^may be regarded, as. iheoffidal-compflser 
 I of Russia, it seems quite incredible. One would as 
 soon expect to find Mr. Rudyard Kipling writing an 
 ode in praise of the Little Englanders, or Mr. Kensit 
 a complimentary sonnet to the Pope. Berezovsky 
 gives the following brief account of tlns^symphony : 
 " It consists of the customary four movements. The 
 first opens with a magnificent funeral march, which 
 pleads to an allegro of a festal character, broadly 
 planned. The second begins with a graceful valse 
 alia tedesca, which afterwards gives place to an 
 Andante elegiaco. This andante, for its depth of 
 thought, its sincere and vital emotional qualities, 
 is the best movement of the whole symphony, and 
 one of the finest of musical conceptions. Here 
 Tchaikovsky's genius is displayed in all its force, in 
 all its varied character, and in the setting of his in- 
 imitable technique. In comparison with the Andante, 
 the third movement of the symphony — a Scherzo — 
 loses a great deal. Here expression predominates 
 over the contents, and leaves the impression of beauti- 
 ful but uninspired music. The Finale is better than 
 the Scherzo ; it is written throughout in the major, 
 and the symphony ends as it were in dazzling sun- 
 shine. Performed in Paris in 1876, and in New 
 York in 1879, this work had great success, and 
 
His Life and Works 53 
 
 attracted the attention of Europe and America to its 
 composer." 
 
 The year j^875^ also saw the publication of four 
 sets of songs , op. i6, 2 5, 27, and 2 8. The first 
 set, op. 16, conitains two of Tchaikovsky's best: 
 the graceful "Slumber Song," and "A Modern Greek 
 Song," founded on a Dies Irae of the Middle Ages, 
 and treated with consummate skill. In op. 25 are 
 " Reconciliation " and " Mignon's Song." Op. 27 
 contains, among others, two songs in mazurka form 
 to words by Miczkievich, which are not very well 
 known in England. Op. 28 is a very remarkable 
 collection, containing " The Coral Necklace," one of 
 his most dramatic songs; "Wherefore"; the charm- 
 ing and characteristic "He loves me well"; and "The 
 Dread Moment," an expression of wild, despairing 
 passion. 
 
 In March i8j5 Tchaikovsky's nerves brok e 
 down, and the doctors ordered him abroad, forbid- 
 ding him to touch the piano or a sheet of music-paper 
 He followed these orders more strictly in the lettei 
 than in the spirit. Perhaps it would have been im- 
 possible to check entirely the creative activity of his 
 mind ; in any case, he returned with a new composi- 
 tion complete in his brain, though not a note had 
 been committed to paper. The violinist Laub died 
 in the spring of 1875, and Tchaikovsky, who had 
 the warmest admiration for his talent, honoured his 
 memory by the E J.atQiuartet. The date upon 
 the MS. of this quartet '^" (In the possession of 
 P. Jurgenson) is February 1876, but M. Kashkin 
 
54 Tchaikovsky 
 
 seems to have no doubt as to its having been com- 
 posed a year earlier. At this time the editor of the 
 Nouvelist — a St. Petersburg magazine — commissioned 
 Tchaikovsky to write_twelye_short_2ieces, to appear 
 monthly, under the general title_of The Se asons . An 
 amusing anecdote is told in connection" with these 
 pieces. Tchaikovsky, who was afraid of forgetting 
 this little commission, told his servant — who was 
 devoted to him — to remind him when the date 
 came round for sending off a piece. The man 
 never forgot, and every month he used to say 
 to his master, " Peter Ilich, this is your day for 
 sending to Petersburg." Tchaikovsky would go 
 to his desk, dash off the composition, and dispatch 
 it by the next post. 
 
 , _Opem,was the species of composition that offered 
 the greatest attraction to Tchaikovsky, and after that 
 some orchestral work on a large scale, though now 
 and then he would publish a series of songs, or 
 " romances," as the Russians call them. Like most of 
 his fellow-countrymen, he was, at that period of his 
 life, a devotee of the ballet, and had long cherished 
 the ideaoT^roducing something of this kind. The 
 opportunity came at last when Begichev, stage- 
 manager of the Grand Theatre at Moscow, proposed 
 to Tchaikovsky to write a ballet. The latter 
 agreed, but stipulated for a fantastic subject from the 
 Age of Chivalry, and Begichev himself sketched out 
 the plot for The SwanTLake, for which Tchaikovsky 
 consented to" supply" the 'music for 800 roubles — 
 about ;^ioo. His ideal ballet in those days was 
 
His Life and Works 55 
 
 Giselle, the joint production of Theophile Gautier 
 and Adolphe Adam. The ballet was begun and 
 finished in the summer of 1876, and the piano- 
 forte score was arranged by M. Kashkin. At the 
 request of the baUet-master, a national dance — quite 
 out of keeping with the rest — was added to the work. 
 The s uccess of The Swan Lake, if not brilliant, was 
 fairl y lasti ng. ~lt continued to be given until the 
 scenery and dresses became shabby, when the author- 
 ities did not take any steps to restore the mise en scene. 
 The music, too, underwent a great many changes, 
 being gradually replaced by airs from other ballets 
 until only about a third of the original was left. 
 Recently The Swan Lake has been very success- 
 fully revived in St. Petersburg. 
 
 Two pieces of a more or less occasional character 
 were produced in the course of 1876. The 
 Triumphal Overture on the Danish National Hymn, 
 was written for the visit of the Princess Dagmar to 
 Moscow, and is on the whole superior to the general 
 run of such works. A more interesting and inspired 
 creation is the Marche Slave. The war between 
 Turkey and Servia, in 187^, was the occasion of a 
 greiF display of Slavonic enthusiasm. Nicholas 
 Rubinstein organised a concert for the benefit of the 
 wounded, for which Tchaikovsky, who was in full 
 sympathy with the feelings of the hour, composed a 
 march, first known as the " Russo-Servian," but after- 
 wards as the "Slavonic March." It had a great 
 success, being a stirring presentment of the emotions 
 which just then were dominant in Russia, and in some 
 
56 Tchaikovsky 
 
 measure it was prophetic of the triumph of the 
 Slavonic cause. 
 
 Another great work belonging to this period is the 
 third orchestral fantasia Framesca di_Rimini, which 
 was originally conceived as an opera. TEe libretto 
 was brought to Tchaikovsky by the author, K. I. 
 Zvantsev, and the composer, who was well satisfied 
 with it, was about to begin the work, when the 
 librettist attempted to impose some impossible con- 
 ditions. Zvantsev was an almost fanatical Wag- 
 nerite, and insisted that his book should be treated 
 according to Wagnerian principles ; but the Russian 
 composer refused to relinquish his complete liberty of 
 action, and the opera was consequently abandoned. 
 His imagination, however, had been fired by the 
 subject, and he could not refrain from using up his 
 ideas in some different form. Tchaikovsky informed 
 M. Kashkin that Dore's drawings for Dante's " Divine 
 Comedy " had had a considerable influence upon his 
 picture of " Hell's Whirlwind." If so,, the painter's 
 conception gained immensely in impressiveness and 
 dignity by its reincarnation in the musician's mind. 
 Tchaikovsky's realism is of a far more poetic quality 
 than Dore's, and singularly free, in this instance, from 
 mere sensationalism. Tchaikovsky prefaces his score 
 with the following passages from Dante"'s "Inferno," 
 Canto V. (Gary's translation) : — 
 
 " Dante, coming into the second circle of Hell, 
 witnesses the punishment of carnal sinners, who 
 are tossed about ceaselessly in the dark air by 
 the most furious winds. Amongst these, he 
 
His Life and Works 57 
 
 meets with Francesca of Rimini, who relates her 
 story : — 
 
 . . . No greater grief than to remember days 
 Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens 
 Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly 
 If thou art bent to know the primal root. 
 From whence our love gat being, I will do 
 As one who weeps and tells his tale. One day. 
 For our delight we read of Lancelot, 
 How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no 
 Suspicion near us. Oft-times by that reading 
 Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue 
 Fled from our alter'd cheek. But at one point 
 Alone we fell. When of that smile we read, 
 The wished-for smile so rapturously kissed 
 By one so deep in love, then he, who ne'er 
 From me shall separate, at once my lips 
 All trembling kiss'd. The book and writer both 
 Were love's purveyors. In its leaves that day 
 We read no more. Thus while one spirit spake. 
 The other wailed so sorely, that heart-struck 
 I, through compassion fainting, seem'd not far 
 From death, and like a corse fell to the ground. 
 
 The two first movements of the fantasia — 
 Andante luguhre and Viu mosso — are clearly intended 
 to illustrate the prose passages from the Argument. 
 To the Allegro, vivo which succeeds it is difficult to 
 assign a definite connection with the text ; but with 
 the clarinet cadenza at the close of this movement, 
 and the lovely melody which follows it — a melody 
 so entirely characteristic of Tchaikovsky's genius — 
 we seem to hear the spirit-voice of Francesca herself, 
 from which all the horrors of Hell have not taken the 
 sweetness of human love and poignant memory. 
 
58 Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 
 
 Immediately after the completion of Francesca di 
 Rimini, he made a rough sketch of his Fourth S^- 
 phony in F minor. But already a new conception 
 possessed him, which for the time being drove all 
 others from his mind — this was the idea of Euzene 
 
VI 
 
 In May 1877, during the examinations at the 
 Conservatoire, Tchaikovsky first confided to M. 
 Kashkin his intention of writing an opera on the 
 subject of Toushkin's celebrated " novel in verse," 
 Eugene Ohiegin. For the germ of this idea he was 
 iii^Bted to the celebrated Russian singer, Elizabeth 
 Andrecona Lovrovsky. For several evenings l^n 
 siiccessioh ^. Kashkin and Tchaikovsky sat up half 
 the night, in a private room of Taistov's Restaurant, 
 trying to sketch out a feasible plot that should not 
 depart too much from Poushkin's poem. The task 
 proved almost beyond their powers, and finally 
 Tchaikovsky declared that though he despaired of 
 adapting Eugene Oniegin for operatic purposes, he 
 still felt impelled to write something on the subject, 
 in order to use up the many ideas which had taken 
 root in his mind. Feeling that his work might not 
 be suitable for a big stage, he persuaded Nicholas 
 Rubinstein to let it be performed by the pupils of 
 the Conservatoire, and, happy in this assurance, he 
 
6o Tchaikovsky 
 
 threw himself heart and soul into the new project, 
 after securing the services of Shilovsky as collaborator 
 in the libretto. 
 
 Probably no one was more astonished than Tchai- 
 kovsky himself when he found that this work, from 
 which he expected very little beyond personal satis- 
 faction and a pretty operatic performance for the 
 Conservatoire students, was destined to prove not 
 only his most successful work, but — if we except 
 Glinka's Life for the Tsar — the most popular opera 
 in all Russia. The secret of this success lies partly 
 in the subject itself, which is known to every reading 
 man and woman in the land ; partly in the very 
 melodious and accessible character of the music ; and 
 partly, again, in the fact that in Eugene Oniegin 
 Tchaikovsky had hit upon a subject, wlwch, though 
 it did not call forth the very greatest that was in 
 him, was, on the whole, pre-eminently suited to his 
 genius, and especially to his melancholy lyricism. 
 But though the opera is by far the most successful 
 of Tchaikovsky's works, and in respect of popularity 
 would soon become a rival to "The Pathetic" Symphoiiy 
 and Casse-Nohette Suite, it is by no means his best. 
 
 I There are really great moments in The Oprichnik; 
 in Eugene Oniegin there are moments of extraordi- 
 
 Inary weakness and banality. But the former will 
 interest the educated minority in spite of its faults ; 
 while the latter will take "the great public" by 
 storm, and be loved for these very weaknesses them- 
 selves. There is a great affinity — in certain moods — 
 between the genius of Poushjkin and that of Tchai- 
 
His Life and Works 6i 
 
 kovsky. Both had at times the gift of wearing their 
 hearts on their sleeves in a very graceful, and not too 
 unmanly»_fa§hion. It is the girt of all others that 
 has most attraction for the great public, who resent 
 nothing so much as the failure to read the man in 
 his work. The sentimentality, the false pathos, the 
 Byronic cynicism of Eugene Oniegin, would have been 
 far less attractive but for the thinly -veiled auto- 
 biographic interest of the story. As it is, probably 
 every Russian youth has fancied himself an Oniegin 
 or a Lensky ; every Russian girl has played at being 
 Tatiana. And Tchaikovsky has attuned himself 
 without difficulty to the subjective and sentimental 
 mood of the poet, which was so often his own most 
 characteristic temper of mind — though not his 
 highest. The result in both cases is a work of 
 almost unparalleled popularity. 
 
 The characters in the story offer several strongly-/ 
 marked contrasts, of which Tchaikovsky has notj 
 availed himself in his musical presentment of them.) 
 The sisters, Tatiana and Olga, are two very different 
 types of Russian girlhood. Tatiana is dreamy, 
 sentimental, naive, without coquetry ; capable of folly 
 for love's sake, but incapable of dishonour. Olga — 
 as she appears in the book of the opera — is full of 
 animal spirits, practical, and a reckless flirt. The 
 girls belong to any period. The young men, on the 
 contrary, seem essentially "dated." Lensky, the 
 sensitive, morbid, passionate youth, fresh from a 
 German university, belongs to the Byronic period. 
 So, too, does Oniegin, the cold-blooded, cultured. 
 
62 Tchaikovsky 
 
 world-weary young rake, who works such havoc in 
 the quiet home of the Lerins. 
 
 The opera opens with an Introduction founded 
 on the dreamy, graceful subject which is Tatiana's 
 Leitmotif. Later on we hear the subject of the duet 
 between Tatiana and Oniegin, and then the music 
 reverts to the first theme. " Thus," says Bere- 
 zovsky, " the essence of the drama is revealed to us : 
 a love episode in the life of a woman who remains 
 essentially unchanged by the experience." 
 
 The opening scene shows the garden of the Lerins' 
 country-house. Madame Lerin, seated under the 
 trees, is busy preserving her fruit ; her daughters, 
 Olga and Tatiana, are seen at the open window of 
 the drawing-room. Their duet, " Hearest thou the 
 Nightingale .?" is extremely pretty, in a delicate, senti- 
 mental style that seems to carry us back to the days 
 of " sensibility " and clear muslin frocks. After the 
 duet comes a quartet, in which Madame Lerin and 
 the old nurse Philipievna take part. Then the 
 peasantry arrive on the scene, and there follows a 
 chorus of harvesters, based on a very original theme, 
 which is quite national in character. At Madame 
 Lerin's invitation they start a choral dance. Mean- 
 while the sisters come into the garden. Tatiana 
 advances dreamily, book in hand. Olga rallies her 
 sister on her romantic proclivities and sings her first 
 solo, " I have no mind for languor or for sadness," 
 the music of which is in complete contradiction to 
 the words. Their neighbour Lensky, who is in love 
 with Olga, now comes in, and begs permission to 
 
His Life and Works 63 
 
 introduce his friend Eugene Oniegin. The young 
 men wear high riding-boots and long black cloaks of 
 Byronic fashion. When the young people are left 
 alone, Oniegin entertains Tatiana in a somewhat 
 colourless recitative. After these two have wandered 
 into the garden, Lensky remains with Olga and sings 
 his impassioned love-song, " I love you, Olga." 
 Throughout the entire opera Lehsky's music has the 
 most vitality, and is best suited to the character it 
 portrays. Presently the old nurse is sent to an- 
 nounce that tea is served. Her eyes, quickened by 
 love, mark a subtle change in Tatiana. She guesses 
 that her darling has already lost her heart to " the 
 young stranger." As the curtain falls the orchestra, 
 in a few expressive bars, suggests the emotions newly 
 awakened in Tatiana's heart. 
 
 In the second scene of the first act, we see Tatiana's 
 room by moonlight. The nurse comes to remind 
 her that it is bed-time. Then there follows a long, 
 confidential recitative between them, while the 
 orchestra carries on a soft accompaniment based 
 upon Tz^ss^&._Leitmotif. This scene, so exquisite 
 in every detail — and recalling a similar scene in 
 Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet — is deservedly the 
 m^t-^opulaiuJmmb^OIl-thkwhol^^ Tatiana's 
 
 part is a musical chef-d'ceuvre, and the nurse's tale, 
 told to an air in the style of a Russian folk-song, is 
 excellent. When the nurse has departed, Tatiana 
 falls into a reverie, from which she rouses to sing 
 her beautiful little song, " Nay, though I be undone," 
 in which she tells her love of Oniegin. But how 
 
64 Tchaikovsky 
 
 will he guess her secret, unless she reveals it herself? 
 Then she resolves to write a love-letter to him. 
 Meanwhile the orchestra delicately indicates all the 
 emotions through which Tatiana is passing. Her 
 modesty, her maidenly misgivings, her despair, her 
 ecstasy, and the final triumph of passionate first-love. 
 When the nurse returns, the letter is finished, and 
 Tatiana begs her to convey it to Oniegin. She 
 hesitates, but cannot refuse anything to this child of 
 her heart. As she reluctantly departs on her errand, 
 Tatiana, seated at her writing-table, sinks once more 
 into her dreamy mood, and the curtain falls to her 
 characteristic motive. 
 
 The third scene takes us back to the garden of 
 the Lerins' house, and opens with a chorus, based on 
 a folk-song, sung by the peasant girls, who have been 
 gathering berries. As Tatiana enters, the orchestra 
 depicts her iU-concealed agitation. She has not seen 
 the young stranger since she sent her love-letter, and 
 by morning light her conduct seems unmaidenly. 
 Presently Oniegin enters. He cannot appreciate the 
 directness and sweetness of Tatiana's nature. To 
 his jaded mind this simple country -girl is insipid ; 
 for he is of the type who finds the savour of love 
 " not in the woman but the chace." He thanks her 
 coldly for her letter, but assures her that he is not 
 a marrying man ; and after offering her brotherly 
 affection, gives her some half-cynical advice as to 
 the need of more maidenly reserve in future. Finally 
 he leaves her crushed with shame and the pain of a 
 first disappointment. 
 
His Life and Works 65 
 
 The fourth scene opens upon a brilliandy-lighted 
 room in the Lerins' house. The guests are dressed 
 in the quaint costumes and uniforms of the twenties. 
 The ball is in honour of Tatiana's birthday. An 
 old-fashioned slow valse is heard in th.6 orchestra. 
 Oniegin, whom Lensky has dragged to the ball 
 against his will, stands apart from the guests in a 
 mood of cynical boredom. He resolves to console 
 himself by flirting with Olga, and carries her off to 
 dance, leaving Lensky — ^who is now her accepted 
 lover — fuming with jealousy and injured vanity. 
 Oniegin's music in this scene is probably meant to 
 illustrate his condition of mind, but it leaves an 
 impression of weakness, as well as of coldness, which 
 does not accord with his character. The compli- 
 mentary couplets to Tatiana, sung to an old-fashioned 
 French air by a typical Frenchman, Triquet, make 
 a pleasant break in the continuous valse-rhythm which 
 accompanies the first part of this scene. After 
 Triquet's solo, the valse gives place to a mazurka, 
 and Olga is again seen dancing and flirting with 
 Oniegin. Lensky loses his self-control, and unwisely 
 demands an explanation. Oniegin is coldly insolent, 
 and Olga rebellious. Lensky first insults his friend, 
 and then forces a challenge upon him. Oniegin now 
 feels some qualms of conscience, but it is too late to 
 retreat or apologise. He consents to go out with 
 Lensky, and the party breaks up in consternation. 
 
 The fifth scene represents a winter landscape at 
 dawn. The short orchestral prelude is founded on 
 Lensky's Leitmotif, one of the most interesting 
 
 r 
 
66 Tchaikovsky 
 
 subjects in the opera. While Lensky is awaiting 
 Oniegin's arrival he sings his aria, " My days of 
 youth, where have they fled? " which is one of the 
 best and most characteristic of Tchaikovsky's inspira- 
 tions. After the sincere pathos of Lensky's air, the 
 conventional duel scene which follows seems rather 
 poor and stagey. 
 
 Some years are supposed to elapse between the 
 fifth and sixth scenes. The curtain rises upon a 
 reception-room in a luxurious house in St. Petersburg. 
 The guests are seen moving to and fro to the music 
 of a brilliant polonaise. Apart from the rest, Oniegin 
 stands in gloomy reflection. In a long and not very 
 interesting recitative he tells of his remorse for 
 Lensky's death, his wanderings in search of peace, 
 and of his jaded spirit, which can find no satisfaction 
 in love or folly. Meanwhile the ball goes on, and the 
 guests are all awaiting the arrival of the acknowledged 
 belle of society, the Princess Gremin. She proves 
 to be Tatiana, grown into a gracious and stately 
 woman of the world. Her husband. Prince Gremin, 
 is a dignified nobleman, high in the diplomatic world, 
 middle-aged, but handsome, and devoted to his 
 beautiful young wife. Oniegin is astonished to 
 recognise in this dazzHng woman the girl whose 
 love he had rejected. His chilly egoism is thawed, 
 and he falls passionately in love. 
 
 The last scene takes place In the boudoir of 
 Princess Gremin. She is reading a letter from 
 Oniegin. Tatiana has been quietly happy with her 
 elderly prince, but the sight of her first love has 
 
His Life and Works 67 
 
 awakened her stronger emotions. His letter throws 
 her into a state of agitation, and before she can 
 recover her self-control, Oniegin bursts in upon 
 her with a passionate declaration of love. In a long 
 duet, in which emotion is kept at extreme tension,. 
 Oniegin implores her to have pity and to fly with 
 him, while she struggles between honour and 
 reawakened love. Finally, with a supreme effort 
 she breaks away from him at the very moment when 
 she has just confessed her true feeling. When the 
 curtain falls, Oniegin, baffled and despairing, is left 
 alone on the stage. 
 
 It would be easy to find fault with_the opera of 
 Eugene Oniegin, to point to the lackof . musica l 
 developmenjja jJi£ various^^atacters, or to condemn 
 the poA^^ ^ of the libre tto — which, except for a few 
 of Poushlen's original verses — is very poor stuff 
 indeed. But when all is said and done, we are 
 obliged to agree with Berezovsky, that this opera 
 "is like a woman with many faults of heart and 
 character, but whom we love for her beauty in 
 spite of them aU." 
 
VII 
 
 We have no w reached th e supr eme crisis in the lif e 
 ofTchaikpvs^^ St tKe" time of the examinations 
 in May i8^, M. Kashkin thinks the composer_was 
 already engaged to be married^ a.lthpugh Tie kept 
 this a secret from all his friends. Afterward5"the 
 staff of the Conservatoire dispersed for the summer 
 vacation, and on M. Kashkin's return to Moscow in 
 August, he was considerably surprised at meeting the 
 newlyrmarried couple at a party given in their honour 
 by the Jurgensons. This was the sole occasion upon 
 which M. Kashkin ever saw them together. Tchai- 
 kovsky attended to his work at the Conservatoire with 
 his usual regularity, but all his friends observed a 
 change in him. He was reserved and absent-minded, 
 and seemed anxious to .^avoid all intimate convCTsa- 
 tiqn.^ One day he came to the Conservatoire looking 
 strangely agitated. He said that he had been 
 summoned to St. Petersburg by Napravnik, and took 
 a hasty leave of his colleagues. A few days after- 
 wards the news of his serious illness reached Moscow. 
 
Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 69 
 
 At first the accounts were alarming, but they grew 
 more reassuring after a time. Naturally his sudden 
 departure gave cause for much gossip. Then, as 
 time went on, Tchaikovsky's hasty marriage and its 
 tragic consequences came to be looked upon as an 
 amusing comedy by outsiders. Even his most 
 intimate friends had very little clue to the mysterious 
 catastrophe which seemed to have broken up his life. 
 M. Kashkin, who knew his tender-heartedness and 
 the almost feminine s ensibiljty q£. his .nature, was 
 filled with the gravest apprehensions, which, as it 
 afterwards proved, were not without some foundation. 
 Tchaikovsky afterwards confessed that though he 
 shrank firom an act that would have brought public 
 disgrace upon his relatives, he had tried in many 
 ways to shake off the life which was at that time a 
 burden to him, and had gone so far as to stand up 
 to his chest in the river in the first sharp frost of a 
 September night, in the hopes of literally catching 
 his death of cold, and getting rid of his troubles 
 without scandal. Evidently for a short time he was 
 overwrought to the verge of insanity, and owed, 
 perhaps, life and reason to the devoted care of his 
 brother, who took him abroad as soon as his physical 
 condition permitted him to travel. A very peaceful' 
 existence in the town of Clarens, on Lake Geneva, 
 did much to restore his health, but his spirit was too 
 bruised to recover quickly. After a short time he 
 wrote to his friends in Moscow that he intended to 
 return to his duties after a long rest, but neither 
 M. Kashkin nor N, Rubinstein thought this at all 
 
yo Tchaikovsky- 
 
 probable. Some extracts from his letters written at 
 this time will best show his condition of mind during 
 these months of adversity. To Albrecht he writes : 
 "I shall remain abroad the rest of this year (1877), 
 and return about the first of September next year. 
 It is only in absence that one learns to know all the 
 strength of one's affection for one's friends. Now I 
 am living amid the wonderful scenery of Switzerland, 
 and in a week I shall leave here for the still more 
 wonderful beauty of Italy, but my heart belongs 
 undividedly to my dear native land. ... I am 
 greatly troubled to think that I have put the Con- 
 servatoire to inconvenience by my absence . . . but 
 better to be absent for a year than to disappear for 
 ever. Had I stayed a day longer in Moscow, I 
 must have lost my reason and drowned myself in the 
 waves of that stinking — but beloved — Moskva river." 
 To M. Kashkin he writes a little later as follows : 
 " I love Moscow as being the dwelling-place of 
 friends for whom now — in this time of separation — 
 I realise the full strength of my attachment. Physi- 
 cally I am not amiss. Like the old woman in 
 Goburnov's tale, I am sound in one spot while I 
 ache in another. On the whole I am robust ; but as 
 regards my soul, there is a wound there that will 
 never heal. I think I am homme _fini . Of course I 
 shall return to the Conservatoire on ist September 
 1878. As usual I shall take- my harmony classes, 
 and shall feel some pleasure in the proximity of my 
 friends ; but what has been can never be again. 
 Something Is broken in me ; my wings are cut and I 
 
His Life and Works 71 
 
 shall never fly very high again. Now I am working 
 hard at Eugene Oniegin and my symphony, but I 
 work at the instrumentation of them as though they 
 were written by some one else. ... It would be too 
 long to tell you all that has happened to me since we 
 parted. My best time was in Clarens, where my 
 brother and I lived very peacefully in absolute 
 solitude amid majestic surroundings. Our going to 
 Italy was pure foUy. Her riches, her dazzling 
 luxury, only made me irritable and worried me. I 
 had no heart left to appreciate her great monuments, 
 which left me cold and indifferent." 
 
 The stillness of Venice he found comparatively 
 soothing. In Vienna he came once more in contact 
 with his own art, and a little of the old spirit and 
 interest returned to him. In Wagner's Walkyrie he 
 took no pleasure ; and speaking of some new work by 
 Brahms, he says that the enthusiasm it aroused among 
 the German critics was incomprehensible to him. 
 
 From abroad he sent the first act of Eugene 
 Oniegin, and^ altliisTrienHs met to hear itlitTRubin- 
 Stein's rooms. Taneiev played it through on the 
 piano. "The impression was wonderful," says M. 
 Kashkin ; "it fairly took our breath away." Even 
 the critical Nicholas Rubinstein had nothing but 
 praise for the new work. Each time it was played, 
 new beauties revealed themselves, and the wonderful 
 duet between Tatiana and her old nurse made a most 
 favourable impression. Best of all, M. Kashkin felt 
 that it augured happily for his friend's future. This 
 was not the music of an " homme^fini." By degrees 
 
72 Tchaikovsky 
 
 the whole opera arrived, and then some uneasiness 
 was felt as to whether the students of the Conserva- 
 toire could possibly create such parts as Tatiana 
 Lerin, Eugene Oniegin, and Vladimir Lensky ; but 
 Tchaikovsky was contented to entrust his work to 
 the students under such leaders as N. Rubinstein and 
 Samarin, rather than let it take the chance of being 
 spoilt by the routinier dulness of some theatrical 
 conductor. Eugene Oniegin was finished by February 
 1878, too late for performance during that season, so 
 the composer had to wait, though somewhat im- 
 patiently, until the following winter. 
 
 In the spring of 1878 it was necessary to appoint 
 some one to take charge of the department of Russian 
 Music at the Paris Exhibition. Both Davidov and 
 N. Rubinstein agreed that Tchaikovsky would be a 
 suitable representative. Tchaikovsky accepted the 
 post, but when he discovered the duties it entailed 
 he hastily resigned it. He had very little capacity 
 for organising, and at that time was absolutely with- 
 out experience as a conductor, so that his action was 
 undoubtedly a wise one. But Rubinstein, who was a 
 born fighter, and could not understand Tchaikovsky's 
 depression of spirits, nor his shrinking from publicity, 
 was offended at his withdrawal. He believed that 
 he had hit upon a successful plan for curing what he 
 chose to regard as a morbid feeling in Tchaikovsky, 
 and, in a moment of irritation, he reproached him 
 rather severely for his " idleness " and unwillingness 
 to undertake a useful office. This caused a passing 
 coldness between the friends, which was happily soon 
 
His Life and Works 73 
 
 forgotten. Nicholas Rubinstein ended by going to 
 Paris himself, and he was careful that Tchaikovsky's 
 works should take a prominent place in the pro- 
 grammes of the Russian concerts. 
 
 While working at Eugene Qmegin, Tchaikovsky 
 had~also beenTengaged upon his Fourth Symphony, 
 of~which he thought very highly, speaking of it as 
 H5~Eest production." "Both coMpositions were~sent to 
 
 iNicholas Rubinstein for performance in Moscow. 
 Rubinstein was usually very successful in his inter- 
 pretation of Tchaikovsky's music, but, either because 
 his attention was too exclusively taken up with 
 Eugene Oniegin, or because this symphony did not 
 appeal to him so strongly as the others, the perform- 
 ance at the Musical Society was slack and colourless. 
 For some years the work was totally neglected, until 
 its revival by Safonov, whose interpretation of it was 
 
 . far better than Rubinstein's. 
 
 The Fourth Symphony is remarkable, for a dis^y , 
 o f humo ur sgmewhat__rjar-e.. in . Tchaik,QXsky's JUJisic. 
 Of all_ the JRussian composers _he seems the most 
 deficient in this guality. He has not the keen appre- 
 clation'oFnationalTiumour which belongs to Glinka. 
 Still less can he make himself one with the peasantry 
 in their noisy revelry, or in their "levity of despair " 
 as Moussorgsky does. Tchaikovsky's humour, as 
 we see it in the Casse- Noisette Suite, and other 
 works of a lighter caUbre, is always elegant and 
 restrained ; elsewhere it is very fitful, and quickly 
 overcast by the_ prevailing shadow of Jiij melancholy. 
 But in this symphony i^_flows more jfieely, which 
 
74 Tchaikovsky 
 
 seems_strange-when we- remember ..that .he_was_work- 
 ing at it during a time of great mental^depresaon. 
 Humour, of a gentle description, peeps out fromtHe^ 
 Andante, and becomes more marked and lively in 
 character in the Scherzo, one of the most captivating 
 movements Tchaikovsky ever wrote. This move- 
 ment (^Allegro — pizzicato ostinato) is a rare — if not 
 unique — instance of a long symphonic movement in 
 which the strings play pizzicato throughout. The 
 Finale (^allegro con fuoco) consists of variations upon 
 the Russian folk-song, " In the fields there stood a 
 birch-tree." 
 
 / The years which followed immediately upon 
 Tchaikovsky's great domestic trouble were very 
 fertile in new compositions, and besides those already 
 mentioned he wrote the music for the Liturgy of St. 
 John of Chrysostom (1878), the Piano Sonata (1880), 
 the Italian Capriccio and Serenade for Strings, the 
 Overture 1812, and two sets of songs — all bearing 
 the dates 1879 and 1880. The Second Pianoforte 
 Concerto also belongs to this period, a work which 
 presents fewer technical difficulties than the first, but 
 is still more showy in character. 
 
 During the last years of Glinka's life his mind 
 was very much occupied with national church music, 
 although his failing health did not permit him to 
 realise any of the plans he had formed in connection 
 with these studies. Tchaikovsky was also attracted 
 by the study of Russian church music, but he wrote 
 nothing new in this sphere of art. His object was 
 the same as that of Lvov, who, a few years earlier. 
 
His Life and Works 75 
 
 had set himself strenuously to oppose the Italian 
 tendencies which had been introduced by Bortniansky 
 and Berezovsky. In 1875 Tchaikovsky published 
 A Short Course of Harmony adapted for the Study of 
 Russian Church Music, which consisted of examples 
 of special difficulties in reading. In 1878 his Liturgy 
 of St. John of Chrysostom made its appearance : a 
 service for four voices, in which he keeps rigorously 
 to the old Russian church style, avoiding all western 
 harmonies and forms which are foreign to its spirit. 
 Of the fifteen numbers it contains, the Credo is the 
 most remarkable. Berezovsky relates an amusing 
 story connected with this work, which shows the 
 lengths to which Russian officialism can sometimes 
 be carried, even in matters quite unconnected with 
 politics. According to a ukase of Alexander I., all 
 sacred works had to be submitted to the approval of 
 Bortniansky, the intendant of the Imperial Chapel. 
 When Tchaikovsky wrote his Liturgy, Bortniansky 
 had been in his grave for some years. Nevertheless 
 the intendant at that time, Bakhmetiev, refused to 
 take this circumstance into consideration, and con- 
 fiscated Tchaikovsky's work, on the ground that it 
 had never received Bortniansky's imprimatur. Only 
 an order from the chief administration saved the 
 Liturgy from destruction and permitted its publi- 
 cation. 
 
 In the spring of 1878 Tchaikovsky returned from 
 abroad, and spent the summer in the country with 
 his relatives. At the close of August — true to his 
 promise — he resumed his duties in Moscow, but not 
 
76 Tchaikovsky 
 
 for long . Having enjoyed a whole year of freedom, 
 and known the advantages of unlimited leisure for 
 composition, teaching seemed more irksome than 
 before. Fortunately circumstances now permitted 
 him to resign his classes at the Conservatoire, and 
 early in autumn he went for a short time to Paris. 
 He was, just then, very much preoccupied with the 
 subject of Joan of Arc, and wished to study all that 
 French writers had written about their national 
 heroine. 
 
 Meanwhile Eugene Oniegin was being studied by 
 the students of the Moscow Conservatoire, " Never 
 was any opera rehearsed with such zeal," says 
 M. Kashkin. Samarin performed wonders in train- 
 ing the pupils, and Nicholas Rubinstein succeeded 
 in putting courage into the hearts of the young 
 singers. A company of experienced artists might 
 have been proud of the results thus achieved. The 
 opera was to be given in March 1879. Tchaikovsky, 
 who had complete confidence in Rubinstein, did not 
 return to Moscow to superintend the rehearsals, but 
 he was expected to be present at the first performance 
 of the work. The actual day of the last rehearsal 
 came, and still the composer had not made his 
 appearance. " I was seated in the amphitheatre," 
 writes M. Kashkin, " the whole theatre being in 
 darkness except for a few candles in the orchestra. 
 Presently I heard some one near to me groping 
 about for a seat, and recognised Tchaikovsky's voice, 
 though he spoke in a whisper. I whispered to him 
 to come and sit near me, and when we met, the 
 
His Life and Works 77 
 
 heartiness of our embrace caused some scandal in the 
 darkened theatre ! " All went smoothly, and the 
 numerous chorus, composed entirely of fresh, young 
 voices, had a wonderful effect. In the scene in which 
 Tatiana writes her love-letter to Oniegin, Tchaikovsky 
 was deeply affected. " How lucky it is dark here," 
 he whispered to his friend, " for this touches me so 
 that I can hardly keep back my tears." No subse- 
 quent performance, says M. Kashkin, ever produced 
 so great an impression upon him as this rehearsal. 
 When Eugene Oniegin was first performed in the 
 Little Theatre at Moscow, there was an unprece- 
 dented crush, and among the audience were Laroche 
 and Anton Rubinstein. The music was of too high 
 an order to be appreciated at a first hearing, and 
 Oniegin— -Y\k£ most of Tchaikovsky's works.-^did 
 notta^ theL-iiudience by st orm. Even the St, 
 Petersburg critics spoke coldly of the work, and it 
 was not until five years later that it was heard at 
 the Marinsky Theatre in that town. Time, how- 
 ever^_mcr^sedjte_.pQpiilarity, and when Jurgenson 
 puBTished tKe"^anoforte score, it had an immense 
 sale. Tchaikovsky himself was satisfied with his 
 work, but did not consider it suitable for perform- 
 ance in a large theatre. 
 
 Ffom-the-year- t87-9.-the-«elal:k)jnS- between.^. 
 K ashkin an d Tchaikoyskyjbecame naturally^jof a less 
 iritimate3iaEacter~ TKar~"frienciship remain^dttti- 
 cftaHgedLTbut now they only met occasionally, and 
 both being hard workers, their correspondence was 
 restricted to what was absolutely indispensable. The 
 
7 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Maid of Orleans was written during the winter of 
 1879-80. It was not wanting in touches, of genius, 
 but it was far from being a success. Speaking of 
 this opera a year later, Nicholas Rubinstein said that 
 he considered it a retrograde step from such works 
 as Vakoula and Eugene Oniegin. He believed that 
 he saw in it a desire to win the public favour, and 
 added that a mediocre talent might succeed in this 
 respect, but Tchaikovsky — never. N. Ru binstei n, 
 in spite of his. occasionally.„aey£re.. judgments_upon 
 Tchaikovsky, both as a man andji^musician,jworked 
 with untiring energy Jor _the__adzajnceinentJ3C5js 
 fame. Of Tchaikovsky's later works, he produced 
 in Moscow the First Suite for Orchestra (op. 43), the 
 Italian Capriccio and the Pianoforte Sonata (op. 37). 
 With this last work he took immense pains, and It 
 was long before he was sufficiently pleased with his 
 own performance to play It in public. When at last 
 he resolved to produce it at a concert of the Moscow 
 Quartet Society, his rendering was so perfect In 
 every respect that M. Kashkin, unwilling to hear 
 anything more, left the hall and telegraphed In the 
 most enthusiastic terms to Tchaikovsky, who was 
 then living In the country. In the spring of 1880 
 Nicholas Rubinstein suggested to Tchaikovsky to 
 compose a piece d' occasion for the consecration of the 
 Temple of Christ In Moscow. Besides the church 
 festival, Rubinstein wished to organise a musical one 
 which should embody the history of the building of 
 this temple, that Is to say, the events of the year 18 12. 
 Tchaikovsky's fantasia or overture was to be per- 
 
His Life and Works yg 
 
 formed in the public square before the cathedral by a 
 colossal orchestra, the big drums to be replaced by 
 salvos of artillery. The composition entitled The 
 Tear 1812 was finished at Kamenka in 1880, but 
 MrXasKlTin gives no account of this startling per- 
 formance. 
 
 Tchaikovsky never regarded this work as one of 
 his best, as we may see from his objections to having 
 it performed in Berlin during his tour in 1888. But 
 the overture has a certain picturesque brilliancy that 
 raises it above the level of mere sensational music, 
 and has made it very popular, especially in London. 
 Berezovsky says it opens with the subject of a 
 Russian hymn, " God preserve Thy people," and goes 
 on to represent the Battle of Borodino, in which the 
 Marseillaise mingles with the Russian national hymn 
 amid the thunder of artillery. In using these subjects 
 Tchaikovsky is guilty of a double anachronism ; for 
 the Marseillaise was probably not in use in the French 
 army as late as 18 12, while the Russian hymn was 
 only composed by Lvov in 1863. The cleverest 
 effect in the overture is produced by means of a 
 peal of beUs, which very fairly realises the weird 
 sounds heard in the Krenilin on a Russian feast-day. 
 
 As to the merits of the operA,yo g» of Ar c ^ there is 
 considerable discrep ancy_ of opinion . Some critics by no 
 means judge it with the severity of Nicholas Rubin- 
 stein. Having never seen this opera, I quote the 
 following account of it, condensed from Berezovsky. 
 
 ^'^^ ^^^d of Q^/g^«J — ^sJtj^as.AiaUy:,named — 
 was prodiuced fortEe first time on 2 2nd February 1 880, 
 
8o Tchaikovsky 
 
 for the benefit of the conductor of the St. Petersburg 
 opera, Napravnik. The work suffers from a some- 
 ^h^t _poor__libretto. At times, top, _TchaikQS§ky 
 seems to be under the influence., of ^Wagaer-;- an 
 influence which is very unsuitable, to the particular 
 quality of his genius. As regards the musical pre- 
 sentment of the characters, this opera is far in 
 advance of many others by the same composer. 
 The roles of Joan, of the King, of Agnes Sorel and 
 Dunois, are all admirably worked out. The remain- 
 ing characters, such as Joan's parents, Lionel, and the 
 Archbishop, are less developed, but as the interest 
 does not depend upon them, this does not detract 
 from the general effect. But the mijst^prominent 
 fe^ure of ,the__opera is jthe, orchestra, jnjshich 
 Tchaikovsky has centred the chief interest^ and 
 beauty. He here uses it as the principal medium 
 of expression ; sometimes giving life to the masses, 
 sometimes depicting a spiritual condition. He is 
 equally strong in subtile delineation of character and 
 / in broad decorative effects, and in no other opera of 
 Tchaikovsky's is the orchestra called upon to illustrate 
 such depths of thought as m.The Maid of Orleans. 
 
 The opera, which is in four acts, opens with an 
 Introduction consisting of twoliiDvements. The first 
 depicts the heroine of the opera ; the second is based 
 on the subject of the chorus of angels, who appear 
 to Joan in her visions, and ends with a cadenza for 
 flute, in imitation of a shepherd's pipe. The first 
 act takes place in Domremy, while Joan is still living 
 with her parents. The scene of the fire in Domremy 
 
His Life and Works 8i 
 
 is exceedingly dramatic. So, too, is the chorus of 
 peasants, " O God, stay Thine anger," in which the 
 anguish of the people in this time of calamity is 
 finely expressed. Bertrand's recitative, describing 
 the unhappy condition of France, is the best piece of 
 declamation in the work, especially when sung with 
 feeling. Joan's scene with the populace is somewhat 
 diffuse. The scene ends with an ensemble, " King, 
 of power supreme." One of the best numbers in the 
 act is Joan's farewell to her birthplace, which is full 
 of that lyrical sentiment in which Tchaikovsky is 
 always successful. 
 
 The angels now appear to Joan, and incite her to 
 great deeds. This chorus, which is accompanied by 
 harps and bells, is exceedingly melodious, and produces 
 a weird effect. The incident of Joan's vision, " Ye 
 host of angels" — the subject of which has already 
 been heard in the Introduction — is a poetical inspira- 
 tion. The orchestra describes Joan's condition of 
 mind : a sort of mystical ecstasy leading on to inspired 
 action. This scene closes the first act. 
 
 The entr'acte which precedes Act II. is not very 
 striking from a musical point of view. The curtain 
 rises upon a room in the palace of Charles VII., where 
 the king is shown in the midst of frivolous gaiety. 
 The beautiful subject of the minstrel's song recalls 
 the style of a Malo-Russian melody. The gipsy 
 dance is effective as regards orchestration, but lacks 
 colour. The ballet which follows — a dance of pages 
 and dwarfs, and a jester's dance — is not specially 
 French in character, but it is splendidly orchestrated. 
 
82 Tchaikovsky 
 
 In the duet between the king and " le brave Dunois " 
 both characters are convincingly portrayed. We 
 recognise the superficial, effeminate disposition of 
 the former, and the contrasting energy and virility 
 of the latter. Towards the close, the duet works up 
 to an effective crescendo, and ends with an accompani- 
 ment of drums in the orchestra. The subject of 
 Agnes Sorel's air, " If strength be not given thee," 
 is slighdy Russian in style. The duet between Agnes 
 and the kir^ is also an excellent piece of character 
 drawing. Tne orchestral music which announces the 
 entrance of Joan is very impressive. Then follows 
 a fine scene in which she is questioned by the king 
 and relates her story, beginning, " Holy Father, I 
 am called Joan." This tale is sincere, naive, and full 
 of sentiment, and is the best number of this act. 
 With the mention of the Holy Virgin, there is a 
 passage in the orchestra for harps. Only a slight 
 difftiseness spoils this narrative. The recitative which 
 precedes the final ensemble is poor, but the ensemble 
 itself is grandiose and effective. 
 
 The third act is divided into two scenes or tableaux. 
 The introduction to the first represents a battle. 
 The love -episode between Joan and Lionel is very 
 weak. Lionel is altogether lacking in character, and 
 Joan's recitative — in the Italian style — is not ex- 
 pressive. The duet "Dread Powers" is the best 
 part of the scene. The arrival of Dunois, whose 
 personality is always well defined, offers a strong 
 contrast to what has gone before. The second scene 
 takes place at Rheims, and musically is the most 
 
His Life and Works 83 
 
 effective in the whole opera. It opens with a 
 Coronation March, repeated three times, and rather 
 noisy as regards instrumentation. The duet (re- 
 citative) between Joan's father and mother is rather 
 long and monotonous. The father, deaf to his wife's 
 admonitions and prayers, resolves to denounce his 
 daughter before the king and the populace. The 
 scene which follows is highly dramatic. The actual 
 denunciation is preceded by a short chorus in march 
 rhythm. Both the king's speech and that of Joan's 
 father are characteristic. The accompaniments are 
 somewhat heavy, but throughout the entire act the 
 orchestra is very prominent. The Finale is on a 
 grand scale, and if given without cuts, would be 
 almost equal to one-fourth of the whole opera. 
 
 The fourth act is__preceded ...by~ an- orchestral 
 ent r'acte^whic h liixStrates Joan's mystical frame .of 
 mind. This instrumental .piece reflects all that is 
 besrinjTi^aiksK§ky:^s..genius, and is one of the most 
 successful things in the work. The first scene opens 
 with a short recitative for Joan. Lionel then appears, 
 and there foUows a very fine love-scene, ending in 
 a great duet. In the middle of this duet the choir 
 of angels is heard, reminding Joan of her duty and 
 predicting her ruin. But love prevails. Joan does 
 not heed the warning voices, and disaster is already 
 at^hand. The English soldiers break in upon the 
 lovers, and after slaying Lionel, take Joan prisoner. 
 
 The last scene of the opera — Joan's execution — 
 opens with a Funeral March, to the strains of which 
 she is led to the market-place. In a beautiful 
 
84 Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 
 
 recitative she commends her soul to heaven, and is 
 answered by the choir of angels. The maid is then 
 led to the stake, and a great chorus, with most 
 expressive orchestral accompaniment, completes this 
 opera, which, says Berezovsky, is one of the most 
 brilliant creations of Tchaikovsky's genius. 
 
VIII 
 
 In _i88 o Nich olas Rubinstein's health was_ failing 
 rapiHIyTljut" almost his last visrf to the Conservatoire 
 was made on behalf of his friend. He took a great 
 interest in the Serenade (op. 48), and wishing to get 
 a general idea of the work, ordered the parts to be 
 copied, assembled the students' orchestra, and though 
 he was too ill to stand at the conductor's desk, 
 managed to go through the work in a sitting posture. 
 Shortly after this he went to Paris, where he die d on 
 nth March ^881 . The death of this great artist, 
 and devot ed friend, w as.a heavy blow to Tchaikovsky. 
 During thefollowmg year he appears f6"Eave~wTitten 
 only one work — the Pianoforte Trio in A minor, 
 dedicated "to the memory of a great artist," and 
 inscribed Roma, Gennaio, 1882. The name of 
 Rubinstein was not mentioned in the inscription, 
 because Tchaikovsky desired less to honour his 
 friend than the artist for whom he felt a boundless 
 veneration. As Tchaikovsky had long cherished a 
 prejudice a gainst the co mDumtipnT of ""piano and 
 
86 Tchaikovsky 
 
 stringed instruments, it is interesting to hear his own 
 reas6ns7~as" given to M. Kashkin, for his choice on 
 this occasion. In the first place, he said that he 
 would not dream of writing anything in memory of 
 so great a pianist in which the piano did not take a 
 prominent part. Then, again, a concerto or fantasia 
 seemed to him too extravagant and showy a form in 
 which to embody his idea ; while the pianoforte 
 alone seemed too monotonous and thin for the 
 purpose. He decided, therefore, in favour of the 
 trio. In the second movement of the work appear 
 the variations in which are embodied Tchaikovsky's 
 memories of Nicholas Rubinstein and his musical 
 characteristics at various periods of his life. "It 
 would be possible," says M. Kashkin, " to label each 
 of these variations with an appropriate title ; but I 
 prefer to do this elsewhere." 
 
 From j[^82;83 Tchaikovsky was chiefly engaged 
 upon the o'^&r a^_Maze2^a. The first performances 
 of this woi-k werenxed for almost the same night in 
 both capitals, and Tchaikovsky chose to be present 
 at Moscow rather than at St. Petersburg. All went 
 exceedingly well, and the opera had even a brilliant 
 success, but Tchaikovsky's nervau5__jtempgrament 
 Tna^^rchearsals and' " first nights," a torture .t_q him. 
 Every one was pleased but the composer himself/who 
 looked "like a condemned criminal," and seemed on 
 the verge of an hysterical attack. The following 
 evening his Second Suite for Orchestra was to be 
 played for the first time at a concert of the Musical 
 Society, but when the audience called loudly for the 
 
His Life and Works 87 
 
 composer he was not forthcoming, being at that time 
 half-way to Smolensk. Tchaikovsky, unable to 
 endure another ovation, had fled from Moscow, 
 leaving M. Kashkin to make his excuses to the 
 conductor and the public. The libre tto of Ma zeppa, 
 taken frora Poushkin's ■goe.ra^V^gliav-a^.-is _the joint 
 wDrkj of .several collaborators, among them the 
 well-known writer Bourenin. The .librettists have 
 evidentl y bee n anxious. _to„ keep.,as .many, epi^des as 
 possible from the original work, without reference to 
 their^tnessjfor scenicj:epresentatioh.,__The result is 
 a ^eriesjjf gloomy pictures,^ prison scenes, executions, 
 deaths, etc., which cannot fail ~to have a very 
 depressing" effect upon the audience. The music of 
 Mazeppa is unequal, but, generally speaking, the 
 instrumental parts of the opera are superior to the 
 vocal. The style of the vocal portion is patchy, 
 alternately Russian and Italian, sometimes a little 
 German as regards the recitatives. The scene of the 
 opera is laid chiefly in the Ukraine, and it is remark- 
 able that Tchaikovsky has not been very successful 
 in his use of local colour, for there is nothing dis- 
 tinctively Malo-Russian about the songs and dances 
 of the Cossacks in Mazeppa. The hero of the opera 
 is not represented in romantic colours, but appears as 
 an ambitious, sly, and treacherous soldier of fortune. 
 This is Poushkin's presentment of the celebrated 
 hetman of Cossacks, and no doubt, historically, it 
 is the correct one. 
 
 The opera opens with an Introduction, and the 
 curtain rises upon the estate of the Cossack chief. 
 
8 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Kochoubey, a wealthy land - owner and judge. 
 Kochoubey's ■ daughter, Marie, is beloved by a 
 young Cossack named Andrew, but she has lost her 
 heart to the great hetman Mazeppa, who is much 
 older than herself. Mazeppa is being entertained by 
 Kochoubey. There is a characteristic chorus of 
 Cossacks, followed by a local dance, the gopak. 
 During the process of the dance, Mazeppa asks for 
 Marie's hand, and is refused. This causes a breach 
 between Kochoubey and the hetman. Marie clings 
 to her lover, and finally goes off with him. In the 
 second scene, which takes place in Kochoubey's house, 
 every one is lamenting the departure of Marie. Her 
 father is heartbroken. But her mother, with true 
 Cossack sternness, bids her husband " cease this 
 grieving," and urges him to action. Kochoubey and 
 his followers decide to denounce Mazeppa to Peter 
 the Great. Andrew is chosen to carry the accusation. 
 The second act reveals the dungeons of the tower 
 of Bielotserkovsky, where Kochoubey, who has been 
 captured by Mazeppa, is languishing in chains and 
 threatened with torture. The scene is exceedingly 
 gloomy, and the actual preparations for the torturing 
 of the prisoner are gruesome ; but from' a musical 
 point of view the scene has some fine moments. 
 Berezovsky considers that this scene, together with 
 Tatiana's scene in the second act of Eugene Oniegin, 
 are Tchaikovsky's chefs-d'oeuvre, and display his 
 power of psychological analysis at its highest. The 
 second scene of this act opens with a fine monologue 
 for Mazeppa. It is first descriptive of the lovely. 
 
His Life and Works 8g 
 
 soft night of the Ukraine, and then of Mazeppa's 
 inward agitation. Orlik, Mazeppa's follower, now 
 comes in bearing the order for Kochoubey's execu- 
 tion, which the hetman has treacherously secured. 
 Presently Marie comes upon the scene. In the 
 love-duet which follows, Mazeppa reveals something 
 of the treachery at work in his mind, but Marie is 
 absorbed in her love and suspects none of the plots 
 against her father. When Mazeppa leaves her she 
 sings a love-song, which is very Italian in character, 
 but expresses her condition of mind. Her mother 
 breaks in upon her and tells her of Mazeppa's cruelty 
 and falseness towards her father. A military march 
 is heard in the distance. It is Kochoubey being led 
 to execution. The women hear it, and are overcome 
 with despair. 
 
 The scene of the execution follows. A crowd has 
 collected in the field, where a scaffold has been erected 
 for Kochoubey and his companion Iskra. The whole 
 scene is gloomy and unpleasantly realistic, especially 
 the chorus of drunken Cossacks, "Ho, get along." 
 The farewell of the condemned men to the populace 
 and their prayer are very dramatic. The latter, says 
 Berezovsky, is based on church tones. The loud 
 chord in the orchestra which announces that the 
 prisoners' heads have fallen is a piece of sensationalism 
 which has its parallel in Richard Strauss's symphonic 
 poem Till Eulenspiegel, where a hideous discord 
 informs the audience that " the drop " has been 
 rightly judged and " death was instantaneous," as the 
 reporters say. 
 
go Tchaikovsky 
 
 Marie and her mother arrive at the foot of the 
 scaffold too late to save Kochoubey or say a last 
 farewell. The last scene is ushered in by a descrip- 
 tive orchestral number entitled " The Battle of 
 Poltava." Two subjects are employed : one the 
 melody of a national song, " Glory " (" Slavsia") ; 
 the other a march of the period of Peter the Great. 
 The action returns to Kochoubey's estate, now ruined 
 and deserted. Andrew, who has been wandering in 
 search of Mazeppa with the intention of killing him, 
 comes back to the homestead. In the orchestra 
 some phrases of the first duet, between Andrew and 
 Marie, recall the happy days of prosperity before 
 Mazeppa appeared on the scene. Presently the 
 hetman and his follower Orlik come on. Andrew 
 throws himself upon Mazeppa, but the latter draws 
 his pistol and fires upon the young Cossack. Marie 
 now appears. Her grief has unhinged her mind. 
 She sings a duet with Mazeppa which is not particu- 
 larly expressive, but the orchestral accompaniment, 
 in which the theme of the love-duet in the second 
 act is ingeniously brought in, supplements the dra- 
 matic feeling and reminds us of her past love for 
 the treacherous hetman. When Mazeppa and 
 Orlik have gone away, abandoning the poor crazy 
 girl to her fate, one of the most pathetic and dramatic 
 scenes in the opera is enacted. Marie is now left 
 alone with Andrew. Her duet with the dying 
 Cossack is fuU of sentiment, but the supreme touch 
 of pathos is felt when she unconsciously lulls her 
 former lover into the sleep of death with her grace- 
 
His Life and Works 91 
 
 ful, innocent slumber -song. The chorus of the 
 people, with which the opera concludes, comes as 
 an anticlimax after this very moving incident. 
 
 Tchaikovsky's Third Orchestral Suite was finished 
 in July 1884, and during the second half of the 
 summer, while on a visit to the beautiful estate of 
 Plestcheevo, he began to work upon the fantasia 
 for orchestra, Manfred. The subject had been 
 suggested to him by Balakirev, but it did not suit his 
 particular genius as well as Romeo and Juliet. He 
 never seems to have been possessed by his subject, 
 and the composition was only achieved by dint of 
 strenuous efforts. " Manfred cost me a whole year 
 of my life," he once said to M. Kashkin ; and even 
 in the opinion of his friend it does not compare at 
 all favourably with Schumann's treatment of the 
 same subject. 
 
 Manfred is described as "a symphony in four 
 scenes," and its programme is based on Byron's poem, 
 with this difference, that Tchaikovsky's Manfred 
 does not die a haughty but sublime rebel, like 
 Byron's hero, but is finally reconciled to Heaven. 
 The programme of the symphony stands as 
 follows : — 
 
 First movement or scene. " Manfred wandering 
 amid the Alpine heights. Worn out with fruitless 
 questioning of Fate, torn by tortures of despair and 
 the memory of his guilty past, he endures intolerable 
 anguish of soul. Manfred has penetrated deeply 
 into the mysteries of witchcraft, and associated 
 with the powers of evil ; but neither they, nor any- 
 
92 Tchaikovsky 
 
 thing else in the world, can give him the boon of 
 forgetfulness which he is always vainly seeking and 
 imploring. The remembrance of the dead Astarte, 
 once so passionately loved, gnaws at his heart, and 
 there is no limit or end to Manfred's despair." This 
 movement affords great scope for varied emotional 
 treatment. Manfred is alternately racked with 
 anguish, or lost in the memory of his past love. 
 Throughout the scene we hear the love - subject, 
 detached like a shimmering streak of moonlight upon 
 a black and fathomless pool. 
 
 The second scene may be considered in the light 
 of a scherzo, and has the following title : " The spirit 
 of the Alps appears to Manfred in the rainbow over 
 the waterfall." The third scene is described as " A 
 picture of the simple but prosperous life of the 
 mountaineers." It is pastoral in character, but amid 
 the joyous and peaceful strains of the shepherds' 
 pipes we hear the sinister subject which represents 
 Manfred. 
 
 The final tableau is entitled, " The subterranean 
 palace of Arimane. Orgy of evil spirits. Manfred 
 appears at the bacchanalian revels. The invocation 
 and apparition of the spirit of Astarte. She predicts 
 the end of his sufferings on earth. Manfred's 
 death." The orgy is not particularly impressive. 
 The subject is more suited to a Berlioz or a Mous- 
 sorgsky than to the more delicate lyricism of 
 Tchaikovsky. The death of Manfred brings a 
 reference to the Dies Irae of the Greek Church. At 
 the close of the movement there is a return to the 
 
His Life and Works 93 
 
 first subject of the Finale in D (with organ accompani- 
 ment). This probably represents the redemption of 
 Manfred. 
 
 Composed at a somewhat later date than Manfred, 
 and allied to it, if not in musical structure at least as 
 regards its psychological basis, is the fantasia-overture 
 Hamlet. The music of Hamlet is chiefly based on 
 three themes : the sombre one, appropriate to the 
 hero ; a contrasting theme, pathetic and graceful, 
 associated with Ophelia ; and one which has the char- 
 acter of a march. The subject ought to have been 
 con genial t o Tchaikovsky s_jternpefament;,.^and yet it 
 is impossible to look upon this, work as one of his 
 greatest successes. It seems as though he had set 
 himself to realise too minutely the interminable 
 agitations and misgivings which beset the prince. 
 He has approached the play from the psychological 
 rather than the dramatic side, and the result is ajaJ^^Hc 
 of ino rdinate leng th, wijhjew saheot-emotignd^rises 
 and much that is vague and impossible to realise 
 convincingly in music. That Hamlet exercised a 
 fascination upon Tchaikovsky seems evident from the 
 fact that before composing this fantasia-overture he 
 had already written incidental music to the play, 
 consisting in all of fifteen numbers. Of these the 
 Overture, Elegy, three scenes for Ophelia, and the 
 Gravedigger's Song are the most interesting. 
 
IX 
 
 Tchaikovsky was now able to realise his ideal of a 
 quiet life, spent chiefly in the country. In 1885 he 
 Took a house in the village of Maidanovo, not far 
 from the little town of Klin. Maidanovo was a 
 pretty village, close to a luxuriant park, with a good 
 bathing-place and many rural attractions. It had, 
 unfortunately, one supreme drawback. In summer- 
 time the neighbouring houses were let to families 
 from the city, who brought with them the inevitable 
 piano, and soon the sounds of scales and exercises 
 reached the unfortunate composer at his work. In 
 consequence of this, Tchaikovsky moved into another 
 house outside the park, enclosed in its own grounds 
 and beyond reach of his neighbours' music. Here 
 he would spend months together without visiting 
 the town. His intimate friends were welcome at 
 Maidanovo, but they respected the solitude of " The 
 Hermit of Klin," as they called him. From time to 
 time, as a work was finished, or Tchaikovsky felt the 
 need of a rest, he would invite a party of musical 
 
Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 95 
 
 friends from Moscow for a night or two. M. 
 Kashkin was often privileged to stay on by himself for 
 a longer visit at Maidanovo. Very simple, strictly 
 regulated, and calm was this country life. The two 
 friends breakfasted at eight. At nine they separated 
 for the morning, which was spent in work. At one 
 o'clock came a simple, early dinner of two courses 
 (Tchaikovsky kept a good man-cook, fand could 
 entertain his guests lavishly enough when he thought 
 it necessary), and then followed a long country walk, 
 which the composer never missed in any weather. 
 Sometimes Tchaikovsky would announce at dinner 
 his intention of going out alone, and then his friend 
 understood that he was meditating some new creation, 
 for many of his works were planned and his themes 
 invented during these long solitary rambles across 
 country. After tea he went back to his work until 
 supper was served at eight o'clock. After supper the 
 servant put a bottle of wine on the table, and was told 
 that he was free until the next morning. " Left to 
 ourselves we immediately went to the piano," writes 
 M. Kashkin, " and began to play arrangements for 
 four hands, of which Tchaikovsky had a large store. 
 Often we played Brahms, whom he esteemed very' 
 highly for his seriousness and sincerity, and his 
 contempt for super.^cial success ; but at the same 
 time he had not mich sympathy with his music, 
 finding it cold and dry." Even after repeatedly 
 playing Brahms's wor':s his first impression was not 
 greatly modified. Oc;asionally the occupation was 
 varied by M. Kashkin's reading aloud some of 
 
96 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Tchaikovsky's favourite Russian authors ; or the 
 composer would write up his diary, of which he 
 possessed many bound volumes, the contents of 
 which were never revealed even to his closest 
 friends. That it contained many intimate things as 
 regards himself, besides the secrets of others, there 
 can be no doubt. Once, he told M. Kashkin, he was 
 spending the evening quite alone at his country 
 house. As his eye fell upon the volumes of his diary 
 he was assailed by a sudden terror lest he might die 
 with no friends at hand, and that some one should 
 pry into these life-secrets. Under the influence of 
 this feeling, he immediately ordered his fire to be lit, 
 and burnt every volume before he went to bed. 
 There was much in it which he regretted, but on the 
 whole he believed that he had acted wisely. 
 
 Tchaikovsky had very little idea of the yalue^of 
 money. On one occaSoii'^ mendmquired : " Peter 
 Tlich, where do you invest your capital?" Tchai- 
 kovsky stared at him in astonishment, and then burst 
 out laughing. It had never occurred to him that 
 there was any possible Investment of capiSl"^thCT3dse 
 than in personal expenditure and presentsTo friends. 
 Breathless'wftlr "lailgh'ter, he "explained" to" his"?nend 
 that his last investment of capital had been in the 
 hotel where he had stayed at Mpscow ; " and where 
 my next investment may be, I am sure I cannot tell 
 you at present." 
 
 In the country he spoilt all the pea sant children 
 by giving Th^in^cagpers.~"~|Ianeiev and Kashkin 
 reproached" him for this bacf habit, saying that it 
 
His Life and Works gy 
 
 demoralised the children, and using other virtuous 
 arguments. The next time they went for a walk, 
 Tchaikovsky resolved to make an heroic effort to 
 escape from the youthful beggars whose morals were 
 corrupted by his kopecks. They started for the 
 bridge which crosses the river on the road to Klin. 
 Tchaikovsky's hour for walking was known to every 
 child in the neighbourhood, and feeling sure that he 
 would be waylaid on leaving the park, he tried to 
 deceive his persecutors. Leaving Taneiev and Kashkin 
 on the path, he descended to the river-bank and crept 
 under the thick sallow-bushes, while Taneiev, from the 
 upper road, watched his furtive movements, and recited 
 with mock pathos, " Behold the worthy fruits of evil- 
 doing," etc. Tchaikovsky's innocent ruse availed 
 him nothing. The children, who had studied the 
 character of their victim to some purpose, had posted 
 sentries in ambush, and by the time Tchaikovsky 
 reached the bridge a party of boys were awaiting 
 him. His friends came up just in time to hear the 
 joyful laughter of the victorious enemy as they moved 
 off laden with booty. Tchaikovsky, blushing with 
 confusion, hastened to explain that he really could 
 not help it, that he had given the children the 
 merest trifle, etc. M. Kashkin did not quite believe 
 in this extenuating circumstance. On one occasion 
 Tchaikovsky had given away at least fourteen 
 shillings in an afternoon's walk, and, in addition, 
 had borrowed all that his friend had with him at 
 the moment. 
 
 The chief works o f 1886 and 1 8 8 7 comprise an 
 — - ._-^ ' — — 
 
98 Tchaikovsky 
 
 opera, Charoddika ("The Sorceress"), D umka , a rural 
 scene For orchestra, a nun]ier_ofLsongs,_ jhs_,Eoztt:^ 
 Orchestral Suite (" Mozartiana "), a Pezzo Capriccioso 
 for violoncello' and orchestra, and the Fifth^'Sj^^y. 
 It will be a matter of surprise to many to find 
 that Berezovsky ranks the last-named work lower 
 than the Fourth Symphony, whereas in England 
 many critics have pronounced it to be almost, if not 
 quite, equal to " The Pathetic." But figrgzoKS^'s 
 account of the work, in spite of his critical judgment 
 upon it, is so interesting that I give it here in full. 
 "The Fifth Symphony" he wntes^JL'Jsihejweakest 
 of all Tchaikovsky's symphonies ; nevertheless it is 
 a striking work, and takes a prominent place not 
 only among Tchaikovsky's compositions, but among 
 Russian musical works in general. The symphony 
 is divided into the usual four movements. The 
 first — Andante, Allegro con anima — opens with an 
 introduction in which we hear the exposition of the 
 chief subject of the symphony. This subject runs 
 like a dark thread through the whole tissue of the 
 work. The introduction is conceived in that mood 
 of sadness so common to Tchaikovsky. The Allegro 
 has two subjects : one melancholy in character, the 
 other full of brightness and vitality. Both are 
 developed with much brilliance and animation. 
 Then, suddenly, the chief subject reappears and the 
 music grows sombre once more. As this theme 
 dies away on the bassoons, the movement comes to 
 an end. The second movement — Andante cantahile 
 con alcuna licenza — takes the form of a romance. 
 
His Life and Works 99 
 
 The subject given out by a solo horn passes over to 
 the violoncello, and is afterwards assigned to the 
 strings. Here again the chief theme of the symphony 
 breaks in in a fragmentary, almost unexpected, manner, 
 casting momentary shadows over the radiant mood . 
 which pervades the movement. The third movement 
 consists of a poetical, graceful valse. As in the 
 preceding movement, the chief theme returns occasion- 
 ally in a fitful way ; but later on, in the Finale, it is 
 displayed in its fullest power. The introduction to 
 the Finale — Andante maestoso — is entirely based upon 
 it, and is penetrated with religious feeling. The 
 Finale itself {^Allegro vivace) grows gradually clearer 
 as it proceeds, as though the heart had cast oiF a load 
 of suffering and God's world shone out bright once 
 more. An episode in the Finale has a subject which 
 is quite Russian in character. The entire symphony 
 seems to set forth some dark spiritual experience, 
 some heavy condition of a mind torn by importunate 
 memories which have poisoned existence. Only at 
 the close the clouds lift, the sky clears, and we see 
 the blue stretching pure and clear beyond." 
 
 When Tchaikovsky left Maidanovo, he moved to 
 the old manor-house of Frovolo, which was also 
 situated in the neighbourhood of Klin. Here 
 Kashkin was an occasional visitor. On the comple- 
 tion of his opera The Queen of Spades, the composer 
 invited a large party of friends, chiefly from the 
 Moscow Conservatoire, to hear the new work. 
 The subject of the opera was borrowed from a tale 
 by Poushkin, and a great part of it was composed 
 
loo Tchaikovsky 
 
 during a visit to Italy. On the occasion of the trial 
 of The Queen of Spades at Frovolo, Siloti took the 
 piano part. The libretto jn^as_jgrepared_j3y__the 
 composer's ^btLOther, Modeste Ijich .Tchaikovsky, and 
 differs considerably from Poushkin's origmalstory. 
 
 Herman, a needy young lieutenant, a moody hero 
 of the Byronic school, fails in love with Lisa, a 
 beautiful orphan who lives with her grandmother. 
 The old Countess has been celebrated in her day as 
 " The Venus of Moscow," and equally noted as an 
 inveterate card-player. Herman is also passionately 
 fond of gaming, so much so that he hardly knows 
 which fascinates him most — his love of Lisa or his love 
 of the cards. Lisa is very much attracted by the 
 young man's interesting melancholy, but she is 
 afBanced to Prince Yeletsky, a richer and more 
 desirable match. Herman wishes to make a fortune 
 at cards in order to win the woman of his heart. 
 There is an ugly story to the effect that the Countess 
 owes her luck at cards to some supernatural agency. 
 Herman sets himself to fathom this mystery, but 
 manages so clumsily that the old lady dies of fright 
 without having revealed her secret. After death she 
 revenges herself. Her ghost appears to Herman, 
 and whispers the names of three cards which he 
 imagines to be her lucky ones. On these cards he 
 stakes his all, is ruined, and stabs himself. 
 
 The subject of The Queen of Spades has some points 
 ot resemblance with that of Eugene Oniegin, but the 
 music has not the freshness, the lyrical charm, or 
 the pathos of Tchaikovsky's earlier opera. It was 
 
His Life and Works loi 
 
 originally written for another libretto, based upon 
 Poushkin's story "The Captain's Daughter"; but 
 after working at this subject for some time, Tchai- 
 kovsky, for some unexplained reason, changed his 
 mind, and used up his material for The Queen of 
 Spades. 
 
 Tchaikovsky's last effort in dramatic.^ niusic was 
 the o ne-act_opera lolanih e, on the subject of Herz's 
 drama, " King Rene's Daughter." It is generally 
 considered to be the weakest of his operatic work s. 
 
 Very superio r, i n its own way^ is t h£, music of a 
 balle^^_in_th irty nu mEers, The,^^j£eging_B.eMity'. TRis 
 charming new setting of an old story is one of 
 Tchaikovsky's most delicate and graceful ins pirat ions. 
 The music, thoTlgh iiUL d'6epeF"tHim~tfiesubj ect 
 denmnds, is melodi^^in 'the~Biesf sense of th^~word, 
 fantasfic^""Bnghtly coloured ; while it never descends 
 toHEKe "commonplace level of the ordinary ballet 
 music. Another _work of this descriptipn_ which 
 appear ed in 1892 has won extraordinary^popularity 
 in this^ country — ^^the .Casj£^=J!imsetie. THis"~was 
 origi nally^ writ ten a.s a fa iry ballet in _fifteen numbers, 
 from which Tchaikovsky afterwards arranged the 
 Suite which is so often heard at the Queen's Hall 
 and elsewhere, and of which the English public never 
 seems to have had enough. 
 
 Amongjr£baikovskyi!§_„lMt„wor Sextef 
 
 for Strings (" Souv enir de Florence "), dedicated 
 tcrthe^- St. PetersBurg Chamber Music Society. M. 
 Kashkin, who was staying with Tchaikovsky while 
 he was engaged upon this, says that at first the 
 
I o 2 Tchaikovsky 
 
 composer found it extremely difficult, but after a few 
 days he declared he had quite solved the mysterious 
 art of writing for this special combination of instru- 
 ments—two violins, two alti, and two violoncellos. 
 But the result showed that even "a very'experiericed 
 musician may sometimes fail to realise the effect of 
 what he has put on paper. Kashkin writes : " The 
 first movement of the sextet, with its second theme 
 — in character resembling a broad Italian cantilena — 
 did not present any special difficulties, as it approached 
 more nearly to symphonic form than to chamber 
 music. In the remaining movements the composer 
 endeavoured to keep strictly to chamber-music form, 
 and had recourse to contrapuntal combinations, which 
 gave each instrument its full independence and 
 equality with the others." When the two musicians 
 tried it on the piano for four hands they were 
 delighted with the eiFect ; especially with the two 
 fugues for six voices, which seemed to them entirely 
 successful. Tchaikovsky determined to hear the 
 work played by stringed instruments before sending 
 it to the publisher, and despatched it to Albrecht, in 
 Petersburg, to have the parts copied. Albrecht was 
 very enthusiastic, and declared it would rank among 
 the first works of its kind. For some time M. 
 Kashkin heard no more of the sextet, and on 
 inquiring what had become of it, Tchaikovsky 
 informed him that at the trial much of it had proved 
 quite impracticable, especially the fugues which had 
 pleased them so much. The crossing of the parts 
 with instruments of uniform timbre made it impossible 
 
His Life and Works 103 
 
 to follow the independent movement of the voices in 
 the counterpoint, and produced some very ugly 
 harmonies. The sextet in its present amended form 
 was not published until 1892. 
 
 To those who understood Tchaikovsky's sensitive) 
 shrinking from publicity, the alacrity with whichJ 
 during the last years of his life, he accepted engage-1, 
 meijts to conduct his own works, was a problenr 
 beyond solution. According to his own account, he, 
 took no pleasure in conducting, and was always^ 
 relieved when the task was over. When responsible 
 for the works of others, Kashkin says his anxiety was 
 so acute that his face wore " an expression of physical 
 pain." His renown as a composer gave him some 
 weight as a conductor, which he was unable to profit 
 by to any great extent. On his tours abroad he 
 was occasionally very successful with his own works, 
 but he had not the temperament which finds pleasure 
 in applause. There seems to be little doubt that 
 many of his compositions suffered from his resolve to 
 conduct the first performance of them himself. This 
 was the case with his Fifth Symphony, written in 
 1888, and published the following yfear. For some 
 years after its first production the symphony was 
 scarcely heard a second time, and Tchaikovsky was 
 so discouraged by the coldness of the public and the 
 critics that, had it not been already published, it 
 would undoubtedly have shared the fate of his earlier 
 works Undine and Fatum. It was revived by Nikisch 
 with brilliant success in 1895. The same cause — 
 his rather easy-going and inanimate style of conduct- 
 
I04 Tchaikovsky 
 
 ing — brought about the failure of his orchestral 
 ballade The Voievoda, which composition he actually 
 did burn on the night of its first performance. 
 I M. Kashkin gives an amusing account of the 
 meeting between Brahms and Tchaikovsky at Ham- 
 jburg, where the latter had gone to conduct his Fifth 
 \Symphony. They had met two years earlier in 
 Leipzig, but Brahms journeyed to Hamburg on 
 purpose to hear the new symphony. After the 
 concert he invited the Russian composer to dine with 
 him, and after entertaining him most hospitably, he 
 confiiigd_to^ini with juiet^ since rity that h e did not 
 like the syrnphony at all. HFspoke so simplyTKal 
 Tchaikovsky did not feel in the least hurt, only he 
 was encouraged to speak out with the same uncom- 
 promising sincerity his own convictions about the 
 work of the great German master. They parted 
 excellent friends ; but never had another opportunity 
 of meeting. 
 
 1 Tchaikovsky, although he gave no impression of 
 I great physical strength, was wiry and not easily 
 jfatigued. He had lived simply, and hardened himself 
 iby taking outdoor exercise at all seasons of the year. 
 Nevertheless, aLfifty he_began Jua-show some signs of 
 jhe_troubles he ,had_ suffered^jind, jJie-Jba3irm^ . 
 work he had accomplisjiei He could no longer 
 give himself up so entirely to composition ; he needed 
 more rest and distraction, and unfortunately his sight 
 began to be affected. He could no longer'Tead 
 with comfort, and thus he was deprived of one of 
 his chief sources of occupation during the long 
 
His Life and Works 105 
 
 evenings which he spent alone in his country house. 
 He had left the manor-house of Frovolo and taken 
 up his residence nearer to Klin itself. Four years 
 before his death he was appointed one of the directors 
 of the Moscow Musical Society, and considered it his 
 duty to remain in the city during the concert season. 
 But town life, with its constant succession of visitors, 
 and other encroachments upon his time, was very 
 distasteful to him, and he was relieved when his 
 conscience allowed him to give up his rooms there 
 and return to the solitude of Klin. That he preferred 
 it to any other life seems beyond a doubt, but there 
 is something rather pathetic in M. Kashkin's picture 
 of the " Hermit of Klin," touched — however lightly 
 — with the infirmities of age and of a strenuous 
 existence, sitting by his solitary fire, longing, as he 
 sometimes said, " for my three rubbers " which he 
 could not get, and consoling himself with a game of 
 patience, or with the score of some new work which 
 had awakened his interest. To have made friends 
 with his neighbours would have been to surrender his 
 complete liberty and lay himself open to interruption 
 at inconvenient times. His art demanded the sacri- 
 fice of the social life. 
 
 The Sixth Svmphom. to which, after its first per- 
 formance, Tchaikovsky gave the title orj^The 
 Pathetic, ' ' w^""'slEetcKe3^jout'~eaiTy^ ^h " "Tgg 3 , and 
 finisEeS^alew'months later, on his retuF!rtrom his 
 last tour abroad. It bears the date of 31st August 
 1893. The work is so well known, and has been so 
 frequently analysed, that it is superfluous to go into 
 
io6 Tchaikovsky 
 
 further details about it here. But a few words may 
 be said as to the ci rcumstances under _whi ch it was 
 writteja^ and the feelings that inspired it. Each of 
 Tchaikovsky's symphonies has a definite colouring 
 yhich shows the prevailing influence under which it 
 vas written. The Second shows us the composer 
 still strongly dominated by national tendencies. The 
 rrhird is tinctured throughout by his increasing eclec- 
 'ticism in general, and in particular by his newly 
 awakened enthusiasm for Schumann. The Fourth is 
 remarkable for its brighter qualities, and especially 
 for its unwonted display of humour. The Fifth has 
 touches of religious feeling which are absent from all 
 Jihe rest. In the Sixth, Tchaikovsky seems to ^ve 
 concentrated. jtKe3£roQding_ melanchgl.^IwKcEj£_the 
 rnost characteristic and recurrent of all his emotional 
 phases. Throughout The wKole'^Fmstnu^c'we are 
 never far away from this shadow. Sometimes this 
 mood seems real enough ; sometimes it strikes us as 
 merely artificial and rhetorical. Buj^ melancholy .in 
 some form constitutes _ the ...|)ecuHar.„quality of his 
 genius, and nowhere does it brood more HHvily^r 
 with more tragic intensity than lii the last rnoyenient 
 of this^g^ymphony. 
 
 There is no doubt that one of the reasons of the 
 extraordinary popularity of this work lies in the fact 
 that it has been invested with an autobiographical 
 interest for which there is no real warranty. It is 
 said that in some vague and mysterious way it fore- 
 shadowed the composer's approaching end. Perhaps 
 it is also with the idea of supporting this theory that 
 
His Life and Works 107 
 
 sensationalists have discovered that Tchaikovsky shortly 
 afterwards committed suicide. The idea is picturesque, 
 but neither in Russia nor abroad have I discovered any 
 substantial ground for the report. At the time of 
 writing the Sixth Symphony, Tchaikovsky had passed 
 through his dark hour and won his way back to the 
 light. M. Kashkin distinctly explodes " the pathetic 
 fallacy," if I may so far distort the meaning of 
 Ruskin's phrase. He shows that the work was not 
 com posed und er the77nBiIence._^f liL_|norbid _pre- 
 occupation wifhTdeath. Tchaikovsky had some idea 
 oTwriting"out~tEe~programme of the symphony, but 
 never did so, chiefly because no sooner was it finished 
 than he became absorbed in new plans, of which the 
 remodelling of The Oprichnik was one. Had he 
 done so, the world would not have found that the 
 symphony was a kind of legacy to the living from 
 one who was filled with a presentiment of his own 
 approaching end. It seems, then, more reasonable to 
 interp ret both ^^^a &ovs^^^^^^^^^^S^S-^^^^^Sl'^'c^ 
 racrveihent, and the abysmal sorrow of the Finale 'm 
 the^Bimder light "or a national or^^ston^^^sjgmfi- 
 caiTEerraffisrTlSS~toImrrow^^L-tO-tl3£-expresab^ 
 crf'^jTlndividuarej^rie^ If the last movement 
 ig~~tnt6n3e3~to "Bepredictive, it is surely of things 
 vaster, and issues more fatal, than are contained in 
 a mere personal apprehension of death. It speaks 
 rather of a " lamentation large et souffrance inconnue" 
 and seems to set the seal of finality on aU human 
 hopes. Even if we eliminate the purely subjective 
 interest, this autumnal inspiration of Tchaikovsky's, 
 
io8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 in which we hear " the groundwhirl of the perished 
 leaves of hope," still remains the most profoundly 
 stirring of his works. Less artistically perfect than 
 those glowing summer blossoms of his genius Romeo 
 and Juliet and Francesca di Rimini, the SixthSym- 
 phony, with its strange combination of the mediocre 
 and" the ' sublim'^Ts^rofoundly huniaE" Few worlEs 
 have awakened such an imme^tf^ er:ho.,.in the hear t 
 of,..±lie-_public. It is interesting to know that he 
 himself had no misgivings about the first three 
 movements of the symphony, but thought it not 
 improbable that, after its first performance in St. 
 Petersburg, he might have to rewrite the Finale} 
 
 During the spring and summer of 1893 Kashkin 
 and Tchaikovsky never met ; but on 7th October 
 the latter returned to Moscow, partly in order to 
 attend the funeral of a very dear friend — Zoeriev. 
 On the 9th, Tchaikovsky attended the Conservatoire 
 to hear a vocal quartet of Mozart's for which he had 
 written the words, and in the evening he invited 
 M. Kashkin to dine with him at the Moscow Hotel. 
 PoUini, the conductor of the Hamburg opera, and 
 Safonov were of the party. During dinner the talk 
 was of a business character, PoUini being anxious to 
 make a tour through Russia with a German orchestra, 
 engaging Tchaikovsky and Safonov as conductors. 
 
 ^ I have the best authority for stating that this symphony 
 was not specially commissioned by any musical society in Russia 
 or abroad. Tchaikovsky had a great objection to composing to 
 order, a custom which was not in agreement with his artistic 
 views. The Sixth Symphony is dedicated to his favourite nephew 
 M. V. Davidov. 
 
His Life and Works 109 
 
 After dinner M. Kashkin was left alone with his 
 friend. They had much to talk about after their 
 long separation. Tchaikovsky told of his visit to 
 Cambridge, when he received his doctor's degree, 
 and spoke in kindly remembrance of the hospitality 
 offered to him there, and particularly of the Professor 
 who had taken him into his own house. He also 
 spoke of Arrigo Boito, who had charmed him with 
 his wit and culture. Then they took up a sadder 
 theme — the death of their intimate friends, Albrecht 
 and Zoeriev. Their particular circle was growing 
 narrow. Who would be the next to go ? M. Kash- 
 kin, half joking, said that Tchaikovsky would be 
 the last ; and he answered in the same tone that it 
 was not unlikely, for he had never felt better or 
 happier in his life. Tchaikovsky had to catch the 
 night mail to St. Petersburg, where he was going to 
 conduct his Sixth Symphony, and so the friends 
 parted, without the least presentiment that it was for 
 the last time. 
 
 There was a concert of the Musical Society fixed 
 for 1 2th October, and Tchaikovsky intended to 
 return to Moscow in time for it, and invited 
 M. Kashkin to dine with him in the evening to 
 meet the singer, Eugene Oudin. At the concert 
 M. Kashkin looked for his friend, and he then heard, 
 for the first time, that a telegram had been^ received 
 announcing T ohaikovsky|s~ttfeess7~but" stat ing"tHa t 
 the dang er was over, "ihe telegt^m was hardly 
 undersfooHT by his fflends, who, not being sure of 
 his address, decided to telegraph to the St. Petersburg 
 
no Tchaikovsky : his Life and Works 
 
 Conservatoire. But it was Sunday, so the message 
 lay unanswered until the next day, when the announce- 
 ment of Tchaikovsky's death appeared in the Moscow 
 Viedomosti. M. Kashkin at once left for St. Peters- 
 burg, but there he learnt the sad circumstances of the 
 case. Tchai kovsk y had ^_^ied-. af choki -a ; the pre- 
 parations for the tuneral were made in haste, and he 
 had not even the sad consolation of seeing his friend's 
 face again. 
 
 M. Kashkin concludes his book with the following 
 somewhat enigmatical passage, which probably refers 
 to the unhappy circumstances of Tchaikovsky's 
 marriage : — 
 
 " I have now finished my reminiscences. Of course 
 they might be supplemented by a i^^ more events, 
 but I shall add nothing at present, and perhaps I 
 shall never do so. One document I shall leave in a 
 sealed packet, and if thirty years hence it still has 
 any interest for the world, the seal may be broken ; 
 this packet I shall leave to the care of the Moscow 
 -Conservatoire. It will contain the history of one 
 episode in Tchaikovsky's life upon which I have only 
 TOuched in my book." 
 
 Upon this episode I am not able to throw any 
 further light. When the authorised life and corre- 
 spondence of the composer appears, his relatives may 
 possibly clear up the mystery which surrounds it. 
 On the other hand, it is more than probable that 
 they will not take the public into their confidence 
 upon a subject about which Tchaikovsky himself 
 preserved an almost unbroken reticence. 
 
TCHAIKOVSKY AS A MUSICAL 
 CRITIC 
 
 There are certain books which owe their prestige 
 more to the personahty of their authors than to their 
 intrinsic literary value. To this class belongs The 
 Collected Writings of Tchaikovsky, edited, with a 
 preface, by his friend and colleague G. A. Laroche. 
 Such books, although devoted to special subjects, 
 generally command a wide public. For though it 
 may be true, as Tchaikovsky himself says, that great 
 composers are rarely gifted with an infallible critical 
 instinct, the majority wiU always pause to hear a 
 great artist speaking of his own art rather than listen 
 to the voice of the professional critic, prose he never 
 so wisely. 
 
 Tchaikovsky's career as a musical writer was 
 brief. He undertook the work rather from necessity 
 than from inchnation, and, regarding it as an un- 
 welcome interruption in his busy, creative life, he 
 gladly laid aside his pen when circumstances per- 
 mitted him to do so. His literary legacy cannot be 
 
112 Tchaikovsky 
 
 compared in importance and interest with those of 
 Schumann, Liszt, or Berlioz. It is chiefly valuable 
 because it throws a narrow shaft of light upon his 
 personal tastes and the tendencies which influenced 
 his music ; subjects which Tchaikovsky generally 
 kept in modest obscurity. It is evident that his own 
 ideal in criticism was something strictly impersonal 
 and objective, "a system founded on rational and 
 philosophical principles." But this kind of critical 
 utterance is rarely associated with the subjective, 
 creative temperament. Tchaikovsky, with all his 
 reserve, cannot always hold up the mask of im- 
 personality between himself and his readers. Thus, 
 in what is often a dry record of musical events, we 
 come upon oases of purely personal appreciation. 
 And what positive good sense, what lucidity and 
 soberness of judgment, what liberal-minded eclecticism 
 we find in these pages ! They are " appreciations " 
 in the intellectual rather than the emotional sense ; 
 for Tchaikovsky — to borrow a phrase from Mr. 
 Hadow— never condescends to substitute mere auto- 
 biography for criticism. We who in England know 
 Tchaikovsky so well — so much too well — by his 
 Sixth Symphony, are disposed to interpret the whole 
 trend of his character by this one dark-toned work, 
 which may reflect — for all we know — as much the 
 tragic historical destinies of his country as the 
 shadow of a purely personal sorrow. This work 
 has now come to be regarded as the expression 
 of Tchaikovsky's creed — or want of creed ; and, 
 according to the more or less morbid temperament 
 
As a Musical Critic 113 
 
 of its commentators^ "The Pathetic" is made to 
 represent him as something between a fallen angel 
 weeping " ever through vasts forgotten of the sun," 
 and a whimpering agnostic prig. For my part, I 
 think we shall never appreciate the true greatness of 
 Tchaikovsky until we have forgotten, for a time, the 
 over -wrought emotion of the Sixth Symphony and 
 the fascinating triviality of its musical antithesis, 
 the Casse- Noisette Suite. Then perhaps we shall 
 turn with pleasure to the wholesome vigour and 
 dramatic interest of The Tempest; to the poetic 
 sentiment, the intense passion, the poignant — but 
 controlled — melancholy of Francesca di Rimini^ 
 one of the most beautiful examples of programme 
 music ever written; and the numerous other in- 
 teresting works of his best and most robust period. 
 Meanwhile it is good to see Tchaikovsky in a sober, 
 business-like capacity, sane and clear-headed, exer- 
 cising his critical faculties with a discretion and 
 reserve that goes far to correct any false impressions 
 of his extreme morbid subjectivity. 
 
 Tchaikovsky's first musical article, a message of 
 consolation and encouragement to Rimsky-Korsakov, 
 appeared in the Sovremennaya Lie topis m 1868. It 
 was not, however, until 1872 that, yielding to the 
 pressure of circumstances, he resolved to add to his 
 income by regdar journalistic work. During the 
 next four years he wrote for the Moscow papers ; 
 first for the Sovremennaya Lietopis and afterwards for 
 the Russky Vestnik. In 1876, disgusted by the 
 polemics which he considered had been unjustly 
 
114 Tchaikovsky 
 
 fastened upon him, he resigned his post as musical 
 critic. On the opening of the Bayreuth Theatre, how- 
 ever, he was induced to act once more as correspondent 
 for the Russky Vestnik, and recorded in five long 
 articles his impressions of the Nibelungen Ring. 
 Twelve years later he again took up the pen and 
 published, in a series of twelve articles, portions of a 
 journal kept during his tour of 1888. 
 
 Tchaikovsky's journalistic work, says Laroche, 
 " made no impression upon his subsequent develop- 
 ment, and left hardly any visible trace upon his life." 
 At the close of the sixties and during the seventies, 
 Tchaikovsky's genius was abnormally active. One 
 work after another took shape in his brain with a 
 feverish and exhausting rapidity ; and to a man thus 
 preoccupied by the things of the imagination the 
 weekly letter to the Russky Vestnik was a tax. He 
 was oppressed by an almost fateful realisation of the 
 shortness of his working days. To him ars longa, 
 vita brevis, was no mere copybook phrase. He 
 was haunted with a fear lest he should " die with all 
 his music in him," and more than once in his life he 
 paid the penalty for his feverish activity in periods of 
 enforced idleness and depression. The lust of finish- 
 ing left its mark upon his work. " He wrote, wrote, 
 wrote in haste," says Laroche, " using up bales or 
 music paper ; not finishing his work at once, or 
 rather — to be quite accurate — finishing it as regards 
 externals, and conscientiously attending to technical 
 details, but frequently in his eagerness losing sight of 
 the plan and proportions of the whole." This accounts 
 
As a Musical Critic 115 
 
 for the destruction of so many of his earlier works 
 and the constant rewriting and modification of others. 
 
 The collected criticisms of Tchaikovsky must not 
 be taken as more than a partial indication of his 
 thoughts on music, for it will be evident that the 
 concerts of the Musical Society at Moscow, and the 
 performances at the Opera, gave only a limited field 
 in which to express his views. 
 
 What, then, were Tchaikovsky's musical ideals in 
 his youth and maturity, and how far did they influence 
 his individual development ? He himself would have 
 repudiated the use of the word "ideals." He had 
 the positive Russian temperament that feels intensely, 
 and instinctively avoids gush. Was it not a Russian 
 who remarked that a piece of bread and cheese was 
 worth all the poems of Poushkin put together .? In 
 a similarly practical manner Tchaikovsky answered 
 those who questioned him about his inner conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 "What are your musical ideals?" Serov's 
 daughter inquired of Tchaikovsky as he sat at the 
 piano during one of her father's musical evenings in 
 Petersburg. 
 
 " My ideals ? " he answered : " is it absolutely 
 necessary to have ideals in music? I have never 
 given a thought to them." Then, after a few 
 moments' reflection : " I never possessed any ideals." 
 
 To another lady who put the same question he 
 replied : " My ideal is to become a good composer.'* 
 
MOZART AND HAYDN 
 
 Tchaikovsky, says Laroche, was constant in his 
 leading ideas, but very variable in the shades of his 
 opinion. The chief deity of his musical Olympus 
 was Mozart. In this he differed from the majority 
 of his countrymen, who, preferring fire to light, 
 and intensity of emotion to "sweet reasonable- 
 ness," have rarely appreciated Mozart at his im- 
 measurable worth. Glinka thought Don Juan 
 "a fine opera, but not a model one." Tchaikovsky 
 writes of it : — 
 
 "Every work of art, however much it may 
 transcend the artistic level of the day and the society 
 in which its author lived and moved, must still 
 inevitably bear the stamp of its period. No matter 
 how strong and profound the creative gift of an artist, 
 he cannot escape certain characteristics, certain purely 
 external peculiarities of form which, in the hands of 
 second-rate talent, degenerate into mere tricks of 
 routine and finally assume a sort of archaeological 
 
Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 117 
 
 importance. Therefore it is not surprising that even 
 in the loftiest spheres of art the works of human 
 genius should grow obsolete. In the creations of 
 Raphael, Shakespeare, and Mozart, despite all their 
 depth of conception, we find certain external features 
 which do not answer to the tastes of younger genera- 
 tions. But it does not follow that the hand of time 
 has power to touch the essential substance of a work 
 of art ; and so — notwithstanding its eighty years — 
 the opera of Don Juan, in which are enshrined the 
 powerful and incorruptible relics of Mozart's genius, 
 is only old-fashioned -as regards technical details. It 
 awakes in us the same enthusiasm, it touches our 
 feelings as effectively as in the days of our fathers 
 and grandfathers before us. Compared with that of 
 Berlioz, Mozart's orchestration is, of course, slight ; 
 his arias are somewhat diffuse, and sometimes err by 
 pandering to the caprices and virtuosity of his singers. 
 His style is laid out to please the affectations of the 
 court-circle of his day. Nevertheless, aU his operas, 
 and Don Juan above all, are full of beauties of the 
 highest order and of strong dramatic situations. His 
 melody Is wonderfully beautiful, his harmony rich and 
 interesting. But Mozart was pre-eminently a master 
 of dramatic music, and no other composer ever 
 created such well-sustained or realistically conceived 
 musical types as Don Juan, Donna Anna, LeporeUo, 
 Zerlina, etc. 
 
 " As I have remarked, Mozart's weak side lies in 
 his lengthy concert arias, which, purposely designed 
 that the singer might show off his or her skill, are 
 
1 1 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 not invariably of great musical value. But in the 
 concerted parts, in the scenes which depict dramatic" 
 movement, he has left us a long series of masterpieces. 
 The scenes in which Donna Anna takes part are 
 especially strong in this intense dramatic power. Her 
 heart-rending cries over the body of her murdered 
 father, her horror and thirst for vengeance when she 
 meets the author of her misfortunes, all this is real- 
 ised by Mozart with such convincing power that 
 its effect can only be compared with some of Shake- 
 speare's best scenes. 
 
 " I would point out as the best things in the opera 
 the Finale of the first act ; the scene at the grave of 
 the Commandant ; the sextet in the second act (when 
 the rest of the characters mistake Leporello for Don 
 Juan), so remarkable for its humorous contrast to 
 the rest of the work ; and, finally, the last scene 
 between Don Juan and the Statue. 
 
 " To what simple — I might almost say poor — means 
 Mozart had recourse in this scene in order to express 
 the horror of the impenitent libertine before this 
 awful apparition ! Contemporary composers would 
 have let loose upon us the full tornado of trom- 
 bones, trumpets, cymbals, and drums ; whereas Mozart 
 attains an infinitely stronger effect by the actual 
 strength of his genius alone." 
 
 To this love for Mozart, Tchaikovsky remained 
 faithful during his whole life. He studied the com- 
 poser from every side of his genius, and left two 
 memorials of his affection for him : his " Mozartiana " 
 Suite for Orchestra (op, 6i), and the vocal quartet 
 
As a Musical Critic 119 
 
 " Night," the music adapted from Mozart's Fantasia 
 No. 4 (1893). 
 
 A few days before his death Tchaikovsky con- 
 ducted the dances from Idomeneo. " His admira- 
 tion for the composer of The Magic Flute" says 
 Laroche, " extended in a certain degree to his whole 
 period, and he was delighted with one of Sarti's 
 operas." In his own opera La Dame de Pique, there 
 is a scene which might almost pass for the work 
 of a contemporary of Mozart. But it cannot be said 
 that he paid his favourite the flattering homage 
 of imitation. In spite of his consistent admiration 
 for Mozart, Tchaikovsky's genius had nothing in 
 common with him, and Laroche explains this attrac- 
 tion by the theory of " unlike to unlike." 
 
 For Haydn, Tchaikovsky had a sincere, if con- 
 ventional respect, and a due sense of his importance 
 in the historical development of music. He thought 
 his music valuable for educational purposes, and 
 declared that a Haydn quartet was preferable to 
 many chamber works of the modern German school. 
 In 1873 he writes : — 
 
 " I have a very high regard for the respectable 
 and even great services rendered to music by this 
 venerable man. Haydn has immortalised himself, if 
 not by his inventive powers, at least by what he did 
 towards perfecting those two ideal forms — the Sym- 
 phony and the Sonata — afterwards carried to the 
 utmost degree of beauty and finished workmanship 
 by Mozart and Beethoven. Haydn is an indispensable 
 link in the chain of symphonic music ; without him 
 
I20 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Mozart and Beethoven could hardly have existed ; at 
 least the development of these two dominant figures 
 in the world of music would have been very diiFerent. 
 They would have sprung from a less cultivated soil, 
 and must have met with greater obstacles to the 
 growth of their genius. But without in any way 
 detracting from Haydn's invaluable services, we 
 cannot fail to see that his inspiration did not soar 
 very high ; that he never got beyond the ' miniature ' 
 and the ' pretty,' and never once touches those secret 
 heart-strings from which later composers have drawn 
 such soul-stirring, deeply pathetic tunes. This is not 
 a suitable place for entering into the historical con- 
 ditions under which Haydn's genius was developed. 
 Would he have shown more depth, more tragic force, 
 more passion if he had been born at some other period ? 
 Does not his music owe its artificial atmosphere of 
 elegant coldness to the customs and surroundings in 
 which he chanced to develop .'' Is not this the reason 
 why he has no power to move us deeply, to draw 
 our tears or to carry us away by strong emotions ? 
 May not this be the reason why he has survived fi-om 
 the last century with difficulty, through a period torn 
 by doubt and exhausted by the irresponsible sufferings 
 of the romantic school which followed him ? These 
 deep and interesting questions may be discussed by 
 lovers of musical assthetics. I have said that Haydn 
 belongs entirely to the sphere of the ' pretty ' in art. 
 In all his symphonies you may find the same playful 
 episodes, a sort of medley, or kaleidoscopic play of 
 sounds which involuntarily charms the ear. By this 
 
As a Musical Critic 121 
 
 I do not for a moment mean to suggest that Haydn 
 should be irrevocably excluded from the concert- 
 room. In Russia, especially, his works form a 
 necessary stepping-stone by means of which we can 
 lead on the mass of our public until it attains to 
 the level of Beethoven and learns to appreciate him. 
 Only it is desirable to contrast with his slightness 
 and superficiality of form and idea some great work 
 by one of the later masters." 
 
II 
 
 HANDEL CHOPIN BEETHOVEN 
 
 Tchaikovsky did not share the revived interest in 
 Bach which made itself felt in Russia, as elsewhere, 
 towards the middle and close of the fifties, and spoke 
 of his great choral works as " real classical bores " ; 
 while Handel he found intolerable. 
 
 If his preference for Mozart, who is in many 
 respects his musical antithesis, is somewhat unaccount- 
 able, so, at first sight, his want of sympathy for Chopin 
 has its element of mystery. For many years he felt 
 no enthusiasm whatsoever for the works of the Polish 
 master, and would only grudgingly admit that there 
 was a certain " charm " in the Barcarolle and the 
 F minor Fantasia. Yet there is undoubtedly some 
 affinity between Chopin and Tchaikovsky in tempera- 
 ment and, in a much less degree, in style. Both have 
 the tendency to alternate between profound melan- 
 choly and fiery energy characteristic of the Slav ; 
 both have the same rather morbid preference for 
 the minor, the same chromatic colouring ; the same 
 
Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 123 
 
 restless agitation in the middle parts. Tchaikovsky 
 seems to have been aware of this likeness, and to 
 have turned from Chopin as from a reflection of his 
 own weaknesses. In later days, Nicholas Rubinstein 
 partially converted Tchaikovsky from this prejudice 
 against Chopin's works. 
 
 It is not easy to arrive at a clear view of Tchaikov- 
 sky's attitude towards Beethoven. " Generally speak- 
 ing," says Laroche, "he cherished a sentiment of 
 veneration for Beethoven, quite distinct from the 
 enthusiastic affection and true worship which he felt 
 for Mozart." There are indications in his articles 
 that he sometimes resented the general tendency to 
 an indiscriminate Beethoven worship. But Tchaikov- 
 sky is often so reserved in his writings, so averse 
 from rashly running counter to opinions which have 
 been consecrated by authority, that his views on 
 Beethoven seem rather colourless. In conversation 
 he was less reticent, but there seems always to have 
 been an element of doubt as to his real feelings on 
 this subject. " In 1867," writes Laroche, " I showed 
 him a MS. (part of my article on Glinka) treating 
 of the exaggerated fanaticism with which Beethoven 
 was regarded. He then praised me for my manli- 
 ness, in what certainly did not sound like empty 
 phrases ; but when eighteen years later I developed 
 the same idea in various articles, and at greater 
 length, he showed himself very reserved, and merely 
 remarked that I was unjust to the Finale of the 
 Ninth Symphony.'" Tchaikovsky started life as a 
 great admirer of Glinka, and, like all young Russian 
 
124 Tchaikovsky 
 
 composers, was proud of the independent views upon 
 Western art which were part of the master's legacy 
 to the school he had founded. Glinka certainly 
 venerated Beethoven, but just as he shocked all 
 cultivated Russia by his criticisms of Bellini and other 
 Italian idols of his day, so his disciples went a step 
 further and scandalised a later generation of formal- 
 ists by repudiating their obligation to traditions which 
 their nation had in no way helped to build up. It 
 may have begun as a rebellion ; it ended in the 
 constitutional protest of a foreign - ridden people. 
 Tchaikovsky was not a stranger to this movement ; 
 but a period of eighteen years works changes in a 
 malleable nature. In his maturity he grew more 
 eclectic, more tolerant of tradition ; and it is easy to 
 conceive that he mistrusted the two-edged blade of 
 Laroche's criticism, which, while striking a blow at 
 venerable traditions, was often equally hostile to the 
 music of the New School. From numerous criticisms 
 I have endeavoured to collect the passages about 
 Beethoven in which the personal note seems to be 
 of some value. In 1871 I find the following para- 
 graph : — 
 
 "I am not disposed to proclaim the infallibility 
 of Beethoven's principles, and, without in any way 
 denying his historical importance, I protest against 
 the insincerity of an equal and indiscriminate lauda- 
 tion of all his works. But undoubtedly in certain 
 of his symphonies Beethoven reached a height to 
 which scarcely any of his contemporaries could 
 attain," 
 
As a Musical Critic 125 
 
 In the list of Beethoven's " unrivalled works " he 
 places the Eighth Symphony, and a year after writing 
 the above paragraph he drew the following compari- 
 son between the Eighth and the Ninth Symphonies, 
 which is, I think, one of the most subjective of his 
 criticisms : — 
 
 "Beethoven's Eighth Symphony is distinguished 
 from its predecessors and from the one which followed 
 it — the great Choral Symphony — by an uni^sual con- 
 ciseness of form and by its unbroken joy fulness and 
 festal character. It is the last bright smile, the last 
 response given by the poet of human sorrow and 
 hopeless despair to the voice of gladness. In the 
 Ninth Symphony Beethoven concludes his colossal 
 work by a Hymn to Joy, which represents the eternal 
 and universal chorus of humanity, united in brotherly 
 love and chanting in one voice an ecstatic dithy- 
 rambus to Nature and the Creator. But such joy 
 is not of this earth. It is something ideal and un- 
 realisable ; it has nothing in common with this life, 
 but is only a momentary aspiration of humanity to- 
 wards the holiness which exists only in the world of 
 art and beauty ; afterwards, this vale of earth, with 
 its endless sorrow, its agony of doubt and unsatisfied 
 hopes, seems still more gloomy and without issue. 
 In the Ninth Symphony we hear the despairing cry 
 of a great genius who, having irrevocably lost faith 
 in happiness, escapes for a time into the world of 
 unrealisable hopes, into the realm of broken-winged 
 ideals. The Eighth Symphony, on the contrary, 
 is filled with a spirit of serene content and un- 
 
126 Tchaikovsky 
 
 restrained joy. It depicts the gentle earthly delights 
 of humanity, before the soul is distracted by evil, 
 doubt, and despair. 
 
 " Both subjects of the first movement are full of 
 grace and elegance, their exposition is simple and 
 concise, with a delicate accompaniment and trans- 
 parent harmony. The second subject is exceedingly 
 original by reason of its unexpected modulations and 
 capricious changes of tonality. The second move- 
 ment (^Andante scherzando) shares popular favour 
 with the famous Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony, 
 Its originality lies chiefly in the employment of the 
 wind instruments which, contrary to the customary 
 laws of instrumentation, are used by Beethoven as an 
 accompaniment, while the violins keep up a lively 
 —almost humorous — melody, and the basses reply 
 heavily in a similar phrase. All this is unexpected, 
 fresh, and piquant. The third movement, in the 
 form and tempo of a minuet, recalls, by its style and 
 by the unpretentious simplicity of its leading idea, 
 the minuets of Haydn. In the Finale — one of 
 Beethoven's symphonic chefs-d'ceuvre — we meet with 
 an endless series of humorous and unexpected epi- 
 sodes ; of contrasts in harmony, varied modulations, 
 and ingenious orchestral effects. I must indicate the 
 striking unison ejffect of the whole orchestra on C|, 
 which breaks in so unexpectedly upon the remote 
 key of C major, just after the diminuendo where 
 Beethoven recalls the first subject in diflTerent registers 
 of the various instruments ; and again, the very 
 humorous effect — twice repeated — which he gets by 
 
As a Musical Critic 127 
 
 the combination of drums and bassoons on the note 
 F, in succeeding octaves, struck at regular intervals, 
 staccato. The Finale abounds in such interesting 
 details." 
 
 His account of the Seventh Symphony seems also 
 worth quoting : — 
 
 "Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, thanks to its 
 well-known Allegretto^ is a great favourite with the 
 public. Among the works of the great symphonist, 
 this Allegretto plays something of the same part as 
 what is known as the air favori in a popular 
 opera. Very often such an air is only distinguished 
 from the numbers that precede or follow it because 
 the melody is more vulgar, the harmony coarser and 
 less poetical. To fine gradations of artistic colour- 
 ing the majority is always blind. Bright tints, florid 
 outlines, and strong colouring — effects which catch 
 the eye — these alone can attract their attention. 
 Tender half-tones, finished details, elegant roundness 
 of form, all this escapes the notice of these un- 
 fortunate victims of blindness. A long time must 
 elapse before details, at first unobserved and mis- 
 understood, begin to detach themselves from the 
 background of the picture. The more a musical 
 work becomes the property of the public, the more 
 they begin to observe with astonishment all the 
 beauties they failed to appreciate at first hearing. At 
 the same time they grow disenchanted with their air 
 favori, discover that it is commonplace, and finally 
 turn it into the streets, where it becomes the property 
 ^ Tchaikovsky invariably speaks of this movement as an Andante. 
 
128 Tchaikovsky 
 
 of the grateful organ-grinder who caters for a public 
 that never outgrows the air favori. 
 
 " But there exist some rare compositions which 
 possess the power of pleasing alike the educated and 
 uneducated public. Their beauty is immutable ; the 
 oftener we hear them the more we love them. 
 Their power and originality is such that it is im- 
 possible to analyse them ; but they can never become 
 ephemeral because they are inaccessible to imitation 
 and plagiarism. To this class of music belongs the 
 Allegretto of the Seventh Symphony, which — for 
 over sixty years — has been a fertile source of delight 
 to the whole civilised world. The first and last 
 movements of this wonderful work, which shine 
 with the same radiance as when they astonished all 
 Europe in 1812 — when Beethoven first took them 
 from his portfolio — are not inferior to the Alle- 
 gretto ; but the latter, I repeat, has the privilege of 
 popularity, thanks partly to its fascinating melody 
 and partly to material beauty of sound — its admir- 
 able instrumentation. 
 
 "The first movement of the symphony opens 
 with a broad, bold Introduction, and is remarkable 
 for the gradual increase of interest with which Beet- 
 hoven develops it, by means of what is known in 
 technical terms as the ' elaboration ' of a simple, 
 short theme of an energetic character. The orchestral 
 effect at the opening of this Introduction is very 
 original, and is frequently repeated in that which 
 follows. The whole mass of instruments give out 
 loud staccato chords from which is formed the theme 
 
As a Musical Critic 129 
 
 of the Introduction, at first imperceptibly, but after- 
 wards announced and sustained by the oboe. The 
 first subject of the Allegro^ a melody of a naive, 
 pastoral character, served the purists of Beethoven's 
 day as a pretext for accusing him of a want of dis- 
 crimination in his choice of symphonic themes : as 
 though an artist who painted the sublime in Alpine 
 scenes or tempests at sea might not be equally 
 successful in representing a simple rural landscape. 
 
 " The rhythm of this theme, with its original 
 accent on the third beat of the bar, is maintained 
 with wonderful skill throughout the entire move- 
 ment.^ Modulations, modifications of the themes, 
 strikingly new and bold harmonies, succeed each 
 other with ever-increasing interest, but the funda- 
 mental rhythm, which holds the first place, remains 
 unchanged throughout. It is impossible to translate 
 into words the astounding effect of this infinite 
 variety in unity ; only a colossal genius such as 
 Beethoven could bring such a task to a successful 
 issue without wearying the attention of his audience, 
 or allowing them for a moment to feel anything 
 but pleasure in the importunate reiteration of the 
 first rhythmic figure. Among other details of this 
 wonderful work I wo\ald point out the stretto at the 
 close of the first movement, where the bassi, 'ceUi, 
 and alti repeat twenty times in succession a little 
 two-bar phrase, while the- higher registers of the 
 orchestra move in a progressive development of the 
 
 1 I have printed this sentence as it appears in the Russian, 
 but I consider third evidently a misprint iox first. 
 
 K 
 
130 Tchaikovsky 
 
 tonic-chord. This original method of procedure, 
 like the inaugural chord of the Introduction, has 
 served as a model for numerous imitators, among 
 them Berlioz, who makes use of a similar effect at 
 the end of the first movement of his Romeo and 
 Juliet symphony. 
 
 "The Allegretto consists of the development of 
 a rhythmic figure unusually simple in conception, 
 and this simple leading idea lends to the movement 
 that undeniable charm to which it owes its great 
 popularity. This figure is first heard in the lower 
 registers, from the alti, 'celli, and bassi. When it 
 passes to the violins, it becomes associated in the 
 'celli with a sad, complaining phrase of contrapuntal 
 character in the minor. Gradually the leading subject 
 grows and becomes more and more prominent, until 
 at last it is given out by the full power of the 
 orchestra. Afterwards follows a contrasting melody, 
 serene and joyful, suggestive of hope in some as yet 
 remote happiness. Meanwhile the original rhythm, 
 like a whispered foreboding, a gloomy momenta mori^ 
 is heard in the bassi. When the leading subject 
 returns, it is completely transformed, and receives its 
 final development in a fugato form. Then it dies 
 away, to reappear in a fragmentary way as though it 
 still had something to say, and finally ceases alto- 
 gether on a vague chord. If we, after all these 
 years, are stiU astonished by the novelty and fresh- 
 ness, the power shown both in the design and exe- 
 cution of this marvellous work, what must our 
 forefathers have felt when Beethoven by the magic 
 
As a Musical Critic 131 
 
 power of his genius first raised the curtain which hid 
 this ideal world of eternal beauty and harmony from 
 human eyes ? 
 
 "The Scherzo is full of life and joyous move- 
 ment, and in the middle episode Beethoven gives it 
 a character of triumphal, solemn joy. In this move- 
 ment occurs another striking and novel effect — ex- 
 ceedingly original for the period at which it was 
 written — I refer to the pedal-point on the dominant, 
 in contrast to the upper parts and the accent on the 
 appoggiatura. 
 
 "If in contrast to the serious character of the 
 Allegretto the Scherzo is remarkable for its joyful 
 mood, the Finale is almost bacchanalian, and depicts 
 a whole series of scenes replete with unconstrained 
 gladness and contentment with life. Hearing this 
 superb last movement, we do not know which to 
 admire most : the creative imagination of Beethoven, 
 or the perfection of form, his astounding skill in 
 handling all musical means, both in the development 
 of the themes and in the fulness and luxuriance of 
 his orchestration." 
 
Ill 
 
 SCHUMANN ITALIAN MUSIC BRAHMS 
 
 I HAVE said that in spite of his great love for 
 Mozart, Tchaikovsky was not directly influenced by 
 him, but as regards Schumann the case is com- 
 pletely reversed. In 1862 he was already a student 
 of Schumann's works, and constantly played the 
 symphonies and overtures arranged for four hands 
 with his friend Laroche. Tchaikovsky's opinion of 
 Schumann was variable, and rarely rose to whole- 
 hearted approbation ; but Schumann's influence is 
 traceable throughout the whole of his career, though 
 gradually weakening as time progressed. One of 
 his earliest criticisms of Schumann is that of the 
 Fourth Symphony, in 1871 : — 
 
 " It may be said with truth that in the future 
 history of the art the music of the second half of 
 this century will be known to coming generations 
 as ' Schumannesque.' Schumann's music, which is 
 organically allied to Beethoven's, while at the same 
 time sharply differentiated from it, reveals a whole 
 
Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 133 
 
 world of new musical forms, and touches heart-cords 
 which have never yet vibrated at the bidding of his 
 predecessors. In it we seem to catch an echo of 
 those profound, mysterious stirrings of our spiritual 
 life, of the doubt, the despair, the yearning towards 
 the Ideal, which agitate the hearts of the men and 
 women of to-day. History has not yet taken 
 cognisance of Schumann ; only in the distant future 
 will it be possible to make an objective critical 
 evaluation of his work. But it is an undisputed 
 fact that this composer is the brightest star among 
 recent musicians; for hardly any good concert is 
 now given which does not include at least one of 
 Schumann's multitudinous works, in which his creative 
 power is proportionate to his wonderful productive- 
 ness. 
 
 "At a recent concert, given by the Musical 
 Society, we heard Schumann's Fourth Symphony (D 
 minor) and the little piece for piano, Abends, 
 which, in spite of its brevity, is full of charm and 
 true genius. I am even inclined to give the palm to 
 this exquisitely poetical trifle rather than to the 
 greater symphonic work. The Fourth Symphony is 
 the last^ of the series, and at the same time the 
 least in value. It has not that overwhelming power, 
 that searching pathos, which strikes us in the first 
 two symphonies. The sum-total of its beauties can- 
 not unfortunately redeem that great fault which pre- 
 vails in all works of Schumann, considered especially 
 
 1 It is really the second in order pf production, a fact which 
 Tchaikovsky seems to have overlooked. 
 
134 Tchaikovsky 
 
 as a symphonic writer. This fault would be called 
 by painters a lack of colour ; it is a pallor, a dry- 
 ness — I may almost say harshness — of orchestra- 
 tion. Without entering into technical details, I may 
 explain to my readers that the art of instrumenta- 
 tion (i.e. the distribution of a work among the 
 various instruments) consists in understanding how 
 to employ alternately the individual groups of in- 
 struments ; how to blend them appropriately ; how 
 to economise strong effects, and also in the intelligent 
 use of colouring — that is to say, the application of 
 timbre to musical ideas. This knowledge Schumann 
 has not acquired. His orchestra works continuously ; 
 all the instruments take part in the exposition and 
 development of his ideas. They are not used in 
 detachments ; there is no contrast between them (and 
 contrasting effects are inexhaustible in orchestration) ; 
 most of the time they mingle in a continuous roar, 
 often spoiling the best parts of the work. As 
 regards instrumentation, Schumann not only stands 
 on a lower level than such masters as Berlioz, Men- 
 delssohn, Meyerbeer, and Wagner, but he cannot 
 even be compared with many second-rate composers 
 who have borrowed his best inspirations." 
 
 Tchaikovsky regards Schumann's Second and Third 
 Symphonies as the culminating points of his orchestral 
 work ; especially the Second, in which " the depth of 
 thought, beauty of form, and breadth of plastic con- 
 ception take us by surprise." But it is to the First 
 Symphony that he has devoted the longest and most 
 careful analysis, and for which he seems to feel a 
 
As a Musical Critic 135 
 
 warm personal appreciation, which does not, however, 
 disarm his critical attitude. Writing in the Russky 
 Viedomosti in 1872, he says: — "Schumann's First 
 Symphony was written in 1841, and was his earliest 
 attempt in that species of composition. Beginning 
 to compose at twenty, and having produced a 
 number of fine pianoforte works and a quantity of 
 songs, Schumann waited until his thirty-first year to 
 approach orchestral music. The very fact that this 
 master took up symphonic music so late seems to 
 prove that he had no strong inclination towards the 
 orchestra. A great connoisseur of all the qualities 
 and most subtile resources of his favourite instrument 
 — the piano — he is an inimitable master in the art 
 of drawing out the rich, luxuriant sonority of this 
 miniature orchestra. But apparently Schumann could 
 never call forth the inexhaustible treasures of the 
 modern orchestra. All his later works reveal his 
 lack of a sense of colour, of genial design. He dis- 
 dained colour, and preferred the pen and pencil to 
 the brush. The most enthusiastic admirers of 
 Schumann's music — which is invariably rich in in- 
 vention and pale in colouration — are agreed that his 
 orchestral works actually gain in being transcribed 
 for the piano. Schumann had not the art of clothing 
 his wealth of ideas in beautiful sounds ; his orchestra- 
 tion is always opaque and heavy, and lacks brilliance 
 and transparency. This characteristic negative feat- 
 ure of Schumann's genius is not often present in his 
 First Symphony. It is said that he wrote this work 
 under the strong influence and personal guidance of 
 
136 Tchaikovsky- 
 
 Mendelssohn. The traces of this influence are not, 
 however, apparent. Schumann, in his First Symphony, 
 with all its positive and negative qualities, shows more 
 strength and capability and greater individuality than 
 Mendelssohn. On the one hand, wealth of imagina- 
 tion, simplicity of design, the plasticity of a Beet- 
 hoven in its fundamental form ; on the other, a lack 
 of colour, obscurity, and a disregard of attractive 
 details in orchestration — this is what we find in 
 Schumann's first essay in symphonic writing. 
 
 " The work opens with an Introduction in which 
 the leading idea is announced in a slow tempo by a 
 few of the brass instruments and is repeated by the 
 whole orchestra. This is, as it were, the signal 
 which heralds the sumptuous, motley pageant which 
 unfolds itself as the work proceeds. The triumphant 
 joy of the first subject gives place to an episode of a 
 contrasting character which — in spite of all contrast 
 — has a close connection with that which precedes it. 
 It is evident that these are twin themes and originated 
 simultaneously in Schumann's mind ; their union is 
 not marred by that unsightly join which always 
 shows in the works of inferior composers with their 
 superficial habit of pasting their thoughts together. 
 In working out this subject, Schumann, without 
 departing from classical forms, as laid domn by 
 Mozart and Beethoven, introduces entirely new 
 methods of procedure, and displays an independence 
 completely free from the influence of the earlier 
 masters. The whole of this first movement proves 
 that new, romantic, and original ideas can be united 
 
As a Musical Critic 137 
 
 to the established traditions of form ; it is, as it were, 
 the link which connects the classical school, ending 
 with Beethoven, to the new movement in which 
 Schumann joined with Chopin and Berlioz. The 
 rest of the symphony bears also the stamp of this 
 eclecticism. In the Andante, a beautiful melody of 
 an elegiac character, accompanied by brilliant varia- 
 tions, produces a fascinating effect, especially when it 
 passes to the 'celli in the key of the subdominant. In 
 the third movement, the rhythm of which recalls a 
 minuet rather than a scherzo such as we find in Beetr'^ 
 hoven's symphonies, the first trio is specially remarks 
 able for the ingenious chords which seem to call to^ 
 each other alternately from the string and wind instru- 
 ments, and also for its concluding coda with its rushing 
 syncopated rhythm and highly original harmony. The 
 Finale, bold, brilliant, and finished in form, rich in beauti- 
 ful modulations and in varied rhythm and harmony, 
 serves as an admirable close to this exquisite work." 
 
 Another interesting example of Tchaikovsky's 
 views upon Schumann is the following account of the 
 Pianoforte Quintet (op. 44) : — 
 
 " It is a fact that Schumann, with his colossal creative 
 gifts, yet lacked the particular instinct which might 
 have enabled him to express his thoughts through the 
 medmm of orchestral or chamber music. In this 
 he resembled Chopin, the pianist composer par 
 excellence. ... In spite of the luxuriant beauty 
 scattered throughout his symphonic works, as regards 
 form, structure, and finish, the first place must be 
 given to Schumann's purely pianoforte works and to 
 
138 Tchaikovsky 
 
 the chamber music in which the piano plays the chief 
 part. To this class belongs the fine duintet in E flat. 
 " The first movement is based on two very simple 
 but striking and beautiful subjects, of contrasting 
 character. The Andante, in the style and rhythm of 
 a funeral march, depicts on a small scale a whole 
 sombre tragedy. After the exposition of the 
 wonderful leading subject, Schumann passes on to 
 tributary ideas which have a solemn religious colour- 
 ing, and seem to express faith and self-renunciation, 
 a gentle submission to Providence, and a willingness 
 to bow before the inevitable decrees of Fate. Then 
 the gloomy theme of the funeral march returns, to be 
 suddenly interrupted by a stormy episode which 
 echoes the voice of a passionate soul agitated and 
 rebellious at the tragic loss of some beloved being. 
 But the notes of the funeral march break once more 
 upon this music, like the lamentations of a broken 
 heart. Gradually, a tender religious sentiment con- 
 quers all other emotions ; the agitated spirit grows 
 calm, and strives to become reconciled to the 
 oppression of earthly life by looking forward to the 
 beauty of heaven. The Andante comes to an 
 ethereal close on the transparent major tonic chord, 
 given out in harmonics by violins and viola in their 
 highest flute-like register. The Scherzo is full of 
 virile energy and inspired impetuosity. The Finale 
 carries the listener back to the joyous mood of the 
 first movement ; and here, by starting the leading 
 subjects of the first and last movements on ' pedal- 
 points,' Schumann displays his inimitable technical 
 
As a Musical Critic 139 
 
 skill in the polyphonic development of his themes. 
 This is one of the inexplicable musical phenomena of 
 genius before which musical specialists can only bow 
 down in respect." 
 
 In his youth Tchaikovsky was a devotee of Italian 
 opera, especially of Rossini's more serious works, 
 Semiramide, Oiello, and Tell. His appreciation of the 
 Barber of Seville was of later growth. Tchaikov- 
 sky, though rarely stooping to direct imitation, was 
 extremely susceptible to external influences. Italian 
 opera was, moreover, associated in his case with a love 
 episode which — though ephemeral in character — left 
 a lingering sentimental impression in his memory. 
 For Donizetti he felt no sympathy, but comparatively 
 late in life — when the current of fashion had set 
 in quite other directions — Tchaikovsky began to 
 value the works of Bellini. But it was the glamour 
 and warmth of the South, so forcibly expressed 
 by Rossini's brilliant dramatic power, which 
 exercised the strongest fascination for the Russian , 
 composer. He shared with the Italian school the cult 
 of graceful and sensuous melody, and was strongly 
 influenced by Rossini in this respect. We cannot 
 doubt it, when we recall, for instance, some of the 
 solos in his opera The Oprichnik, or the second 
 subject of the first movement of the Sixth Symphony. 
 The lovely things of art are preserved to reappear in 
 unexpected disguises, and just as the gracious beauty 
 of Italian melody seemed doomed to p^ss away under 
 a new dispensation, it was reincarnated in the works 
 of this northern composer. Such cases of musical 
 
140 Tchaikovsky 
 
 atavism are by no means rare, and would make an 
 interesting study in themselves. Tchaikovsky's 
 views on Italian music, written at a time when all 
 critics who wished to be taken seriously were con- 
 demning Italian opera, in the words of Dr. Johnson, 
 as " an exotic and irrational entertainment," were 
 admirable in their tone of unbiassed reserve. His 
 attitude was that of negative rather than of positive 
 defence. He refused to exalt Wagner and Schumann 
 at the expense of Rossini and Meyerbeer, and succeeds 
 in keeping an open mind and an individual opinion 
 throughout the period of heated polemics during 
 which he acted as a musical critic. 
 
 The note of decision which is sometimes lacking 
 in Tchaikovsky's defence of Italian opera is fully 
 heard, however, on the question of classical music, 
 in the narrower sense of the word — that is to say, 
 the great period at the close of the eighteenth and 
 beginning of the nineteenth centuries. While he gives 
 Schumann one of the highest places in modern music, 
 he scarcely veils his contempt for the rank and file 
 of the new romantic school of Germany. Nor could 
 he bring himself — even after conscientious efforts — 
 to accept Brahms as one of the Immortals. In the 
 seventies, the period during which Tchaikovsky 
 was engaged in musical criticism, Brahms's works 
 were so seldom given in Moscow that his name 
 rarely appears in the first part of this volume. The 
 first important record of Tchaikovsky's opinion 
 on this subject occurs in November 1872, when 
 Brahms's Sextet in B flat was given at one of the 
 
As a Musical Critic 141 
 
 chamber concerts of the Musical Society. He 
 then writes : — 
 
 "All Germany has looked with unction upon 
 this composer, — who is still young, — thinking to find 
 in him the man destined to lead his art into un- 
 explored paths, and capable, by the power of his 
 creative gift, not only of equalling, but even of 
 surpassing, his great predecessors. The rumours cir- 
 culated throughout the German musical world on the 
 appearance of Brahms's first compositions owed their 
 origin to Schumann. It is a well-known fact that 
 great composers are rarely endowed with infallible 
 critical instincts, and are generally remarkable for 
 their leniency to their fellow-artists. Schumann is a 
 striking example of this critical indulgence. All his 
 life he bowed down to Mendelssohn, Chopin, and 
 Berlioz, and even to such musical nobodies as 
 Henselt, Hiller, etc. He went into sincere ecstasies 
 over every fresh manifestation of genius, and only 
 depreciated his own value. Towards the end of his 
 career, Schumann, through the medium of his 
 musical journal, published in Leipzig, began to 
 prophesy the advent of a musical Messiah, who 
 was destined to illuminate the whole world of music 
 and to fill the place left vacant by Beethoven. When 
 Brahms's first sonatas appeared, Schumann, in one 
 laconic phrase, ' He has come,' announced the advent 
 of the expected genius, whom he proclaimed in the 
 person of young Brahms. Time has proved, how- 
 ever, that Schumann's unexpected proclamation was 
 a mistake into which the indulgent and amiable 
 
142 Tchaikovsky 
 
 composer was easily led. Brahms has not fulfilled 
 the obligations which Schumann laid upon him and 
 upon all musical Germany personified in him. He 
 is merely one of those routinier composers in which 
 the German school has been so rich. He writes 
 fluently, skilfully, correctly, but without a spark of 
 independent genius ; contenting himself with endless 
 trifling with empty musical ideas, long since become 
 stale, and borrowed chiefly from Mendelssohn ; while 
 he also strives to imitate certain external mannerisms 
 of Schumann's. Brahms, however, is not devoid of 
 talent ; therefore he stands a whole head above his 
 contemporaries. But there is now no question of 
 the fulfilment of impossible hopes in his genius." 
 
 Sixteen years later Tchaikovsky's views upon 
 Brahms were less crude, and tempered by a sentiment 
 of personal respect, but they remained essentially 
 unchanged. During this period he had more 
 frequent opportunities of hearing the works of the 
 German master, and Kashkin says that during the 
 long, quiet evenings of Tchaikovsky's life at Klin, 
 he would often take one of Brahms' s scores from his 
 shelves and try to work himself up to a flickering 
 enthusiasm for the contents. But there is no doubt 
 that these two great musicians found no common 
 meeting -ground, and Brahms on his part was too 
 sincere to pretend to any appreciation of Tchaikov- 
 sky's works. The unsympathetic attitude of the 
 Russian composer towards Brahms's music is re- 
 garded by many in the light of a grievance, or even 
 of an impertinence. Is it not really a blessing in 
 
As a Musical Critic 143 
 
 disguise ? An artist may admire his great pre- 
 decessors to the extent of being influenced by them, 
 but no more ; whereas a whole-hearted admiration 
 for a contemporary seems invariably to lead to more 
 or less direct imitation of his methods. The Brahms 
 cult has immolated too many rising talents as it is ; 
 for even those who have the most genuine adrtiira- 
 tion for the splendid qualities of the master cannot 
 deny that his disciples form the dullest school in 
 contemporary music. In the independence of the 
 Russian school — with its many imperfections — there 
 is at least the charm of freshness and sincerity. 
 
IV 
 
 BERLIOZ SAINT-SAENS WAGNER 
 
 Cold as was Tchaikovsky's attitude to Wagner's 
 music in his early days, it is somewhat singular to 
 find that the works of the Arch - Wagnerian Serov 
 moved him to enthusiastic praise. Judith ^ was one 
 of his favourite operas, and remained so through 
 his whole life. But Serov left no traces of influence 
 upon Tchaikovsky's own works, which show a close 
 acquaintance with the dramatic compositions of 
 Glinka and Meyerbeer, and later of Bizet and the 
 modern French school. In connection with this 
 school it may be said that, at first, Tchaikovsky 
 was very little impressed by Gounod's Faust, which 
 achieved such immense success in Petersburg. At 
 a later date his favourite singer, Madame Artot, in 
 the part of Margaret, partially dispelled this in- 
 difference. He had a great admiration for the 
 orchestration of Berlioz, but he was not influenced 
 
 1 Judith, an early opera of Serov's, was written in i86z, and 
 performed in Petersburg in May 1863. 
 
Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 145 
 
 by him in the same degree as many of his com- 
 patriots : Moussorgsky, for instance, as regards 
 sentiment, and Rimsky-Korsakov as regards style 
 and technique. In March 1873, ^^ the occasion of a 
 performance of the overture to Les Francs Juges, 
 he gives his opinion of BerHoz at considerable 
 length : — 
 
 " Berlioz is both a brilliant and exceptional 
 phenomenon in the history of music. In certain 
 spheres of his art he has reached ideal heights to 
 which few other artists have ever attained. He has 
 not composed a single work which does not equally 
 display all-round technical perfection and depth of 
 thought, joined to beauty of form, which are essential 
 properties of all great works of art. In many 
 respects he has struck out in new lines, yet it can- 
 not be said that he actually belongs to the new 
 school ; nor has he left any direct disciples. Through- 
 out his career he aroused great interest, but never 
 possessed such warm partisans and patrons of his 
 music as Mozart or Beethoven did, and — in our day 
 — ^Wagner. The enthusiastic welcome accorded to 
 him almost everywhere in Germany — with the excep- 
 tion of the stubborn attitude of the Leipzig Con- 
 servatoire — and also in Russia, was due not so much 
 to a universal sympathy for his music as to certain 
 side impulses. Germany and Russia honoured in 
 the person of Berlioz his disinterested labours, his 
 passionate love of art, his energetic and noble efforts 
 to fight against the obtuseness, conventionality, 
 ignorance, and intrigue of that brutal collection of 
 
 L 
 
146 Tchaikovsky 
 
 units which poets call 'the crowd.' No matter 
 how remarkable some sides of Berlioz's genius may 
 be, no matter how prominently his sympathetic 
 personality may stand out among the great musicians 
 of our time, I still maintain that his music has never 
 touched the masses in the same sense as that of 
 Mozart, Beethoven, Schumann, Schubert, Mendels- 
 sohn, or Meyerbeer, or as that of Wagner must 
 assuredly do in the future. That Berlioz was the 
 victim of the misunderstanding of the French nation, 
 led on by French musicians ; that he was never 
 appreciated in that country ; that he was worthy of 
 a better and happier fate than that which commonly 
 falls to the lot of a persevering, hard-working artist — 
 all this cannot be denied. But his isolated position 
 among his contemporaries in art, his want of success, 
 the coldness of the public and of musicians, these 
 things are due to certain peculiarities of his excep- 
 tional musical temperament, and the incompleteness, 
 in many respects, of his natural creative endowment. 
 " In composition we must distinguish two separate 
 factors : a purely inventive faculty, and imagination. 
 The history of music furnishes examples of composers 
 who have possessed astonishing powers of the first 
 order ; their minds have been inexhaustibly pro- 
 ductive of beautiful melodic ideas and exquisite 
 harmonies, which were not the outcome of any eiFort 
 or labour, but of inherent instinct and tendency. 
 But they lacked a rich, luminous imagination. In 
 this connection we may instance Schubert, Chopin 
 to a certain extent, and our Russian composer 
 
As a Musical Critic 147 
 
 Dargomijsky. Other composers, endowed with the 
 second factor of the creative mind, but possessing 
 relatively poor inventive faculties, know how to 
 extract all the contents of a musical germ ; and by 
 variety in the contrasts of colour, and by special 
 attention to external beauty, they make the most 
 of the situation. Such are Mendelssohn, Liszt, and 
 Balakirev. An equal proportion of inventive power 
 in melody, rhythm, and harmony, joined to wealth of 
 imagination, is only to be found in the wake of the 
 very greatest masters, such as Mozart and Beethoven. 
 As regards Berlioz, he belongs undoubtedly to the 
 second category of composers. The preponderance 
 of fiery poetical imagination over absolute musical 
 creative power is all the more apparent in him, 
 because he is entirely lacking in the art of harmony, 
 which is so indispensable to the development of 
 leading ideas. His harmony is distorted, and 
 sometimes intolerable to a finely organised ear. 
 We hear in it an insane incoherence, the absence 
 of any natural feeling, and an inconsequence in the 
 management of the parts which prevents his works 
 from appealing directly to the musical emotions of 
 his audience. Berlioz works upon the imagination. 
 He knows how to engage and interest ; but he can 
 rarely move us. Poor in melodic inspiration, lacking 
 a fine feeling for harmony, but endowed with a 
 marvellous gift of exciting the imagination of his 
 hearers, Berlioz applied all his creative powers to 
 the externals of musical beauty. The results of this 
 tendency are shown in that marvellous orchestration, 
 
148 Tchaikovsky 
 
 that inimitable beauty of sonority, that picturesque 
 musical presentment of the natural and fantastic 
 world, which proclaim him the subtle and inspired 
 poet, the unapproachably great master. We recall 
 all the poetic glamour with which he depicts the 
 supernatural world in his Faust, or the tiny fairy- 
 folk in the scherzo ' Queen Mab,' from the Romeo 
 and Juliet symphony. Here the music gives such 
 a realistic picture of a fantastic subject that the 
 imagination is carried away, as in a beautiful dream, 
 to the unknown region where lies the valley of 
 eternal and ideal happiness." 
 
 Tchaikovsky had a great respect for Monsieur 
 Saint-Saens as an all-round artist who combines a 
 remarkable creative gift with refined and brilliant 
 executive power. In 1875 ^^^ French musician 
 visited St. Petersburg in the threefold capacity of 
 composer, pianist, and conductor. In November 
 he played his Pianoforte Concerto in D flat at a 
 concert of the Musical Society, and Tchaikovsky then 
 writes of him : " Monsieur Saint-Saens belongs in 
 his own country to a small circle which represents the 
 progressive element jn music. In this advanced set, 
 which consists of the most talented of contemporary 
 French composers — Massenet, Dubois, and Paladihle 
 (also Bizet, a composer of extraordinary endowments 
 who died last year at thirty years of age) — Monsieur 
 Saint-Saens occupies a very prominent position." He 
 then gives a brief biographical sketch of the composer, 
 and goes on to speak of the general features of his 
 work : " All the most sympathetic characteristics of 
 
As a Musical Critic 149 
 
 his nationality, cordial sincerity, warmth of feeling, 
 intellect, make themselves felt in every note of our 
 guest's compositions. They are further illuminated 
 by his artistic interpretation of them, which shows 
 such distinction, such thoughtful and careful phrasing, 
 without a trace of affectation." Elsewhere, he dwells 
 upon the union of strictly classical methods with 
 modern sentiments which is so characteristic of Saint- 
 Saens. " If I am not mistaken," he says, " the 
 originality of the French master's creative methods 
 lies in the fact that he combines most successfully 
 the style of Sebastian Bach — for whom he has an 
 evident affection — with the national French elements, 
 of which the characteristically piquant rhythm makes 
 itself clearly felt." 
 
 As regards Wagner, it may be said that his 
 influence is not at all evident in Tchaikovsky's 
 early works, and only to a very limited extent in 
 those of his maturity. Laroche, however, considers 
 that Wagner's influence had perceptibly increased 
 during the last years of Tchaikovsky's life, though 
 more in the direction of technique than of sentiment. 
 In 1862, all that Tchaikovsky knew of Wagner's 
 music were the selections given at the concerts of 
 the Russian Musical Society, and by Strauss at the 
 Pavlovsky. " It might be supposed," says Laroche, 
 " that the impressionable young composer would 
 have fallen under Wagner's influence after the 
 Easter concerts of 1863. But it was not so. Even 
 the prelude to Lohengrin, which excited so much 
 enthusiasm in the public, especially among the 
 
150 Tchaikovsky 
 
 students of the Conservatoire, was received by 
 Tchaikovsky in a cold, sceptical spirit." 
 
 . His early views of Wagner are set forth in a 
 criticism of the Faust Overture, written in 1872. 
 "At the present moment," he writes, "Wagner is 
 undoubtedly the most striking personality on the 
 horizon of the musical world. His works are still 
 far from being understood by the general public, 
 either in Germany or abroad ; nevertheless, by means 
 of his rabid polemic against all constituted authority 
 and by the vastness of the problems he has set him- 
 self to solve, he has succeeded in attracting to himself 
 the attention of the whole musical world, and even 
 in arousing the interest of those to whom music is 
 not a matter of everyday life. Some regard Wagner 
 as a musical light, second only to Beethoven ; to 
 others he appears a charlatan in the style of our 
 ' Abyssinian maestro ' ; but in any case, if we may 
 believe — not without justification — that Wagner 
 desired to win celebrity at any price, his aim is now 
 attained. He has ardent worshippers and equally 
 furious enemies who make it their business to write 
 about all his utterances, and his words are awaited in 
 a spirit of admiration, antagonism, or simple curiosity, 
 by the public of both hemispheres. 
 
 " Among those who labour at art or science we 
 may clearly distinguish two types. The one consists 
 of those who, in obedience to their vocation, select 
 the path which seems best suited to their powers and 
 most in conformity with their idiosyncrasies and lot 
 in life. They do not adopt any fashionable idea as 
 
As a Musical Critic 151 
 
 their device. They do not seek to clear their road 
 by overthrowing authority ; nor do they constitute 
 themselves the instruments of Providence whose duty 
 it is to open the eyes of blind humanity. They 
 labour, study, observe, and perfect themselves ; then 
 they create, by virtue of their natural qualities and 
 the circumstances of time and place in which they 
 have developed. They work out their own problem, 
 and, quitting the arena of life, leave the fruits of 
 their labour for the pleasure and profit of future 
 generations. To this type of ' artist-workers ' belong 
 Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, 
 Schumann, Glinka. Others, consumed by un- 
 measured ambition, in order to attain more rapidly 
 to a prominent position, push noisily through the 
 crowd, dispersing right and left all whom they meet 
 on their road, and striving to attract universal attention 
 to themselves. Such artists are ready to pose as the 
 representatives of every new — and sometimes false — 
 idea, and strive, not for the realisation of their genius, 
 but only to astonish the world by their Don Quixot- 
 ism. To this type belong Wagner and Serov." 
 
 Wagner's personal vanity and chauvinistic tactics 
 were hateful to the " Hermit of Klin." Moreover, 
 Tchaikovsky — at least during the earlier years of his 
 career — sincerely believed that Wagner was a sym- 
 phonist manque. An intimate friend of Wagner's once 
 repeated to Tchaikovsky a remark which the com- 
 poser of Parsifal had made to him in a moment 
 of friendly conversation : " Even if I had desired to 
 occupy myself with the composition of chamber 
 
152 Tchaikovsky 
 
 music and symphonies it would have been impossible, 
 since my duty lies within the limits of opera." 
 "Do not these words of Wagner's" — comments 
 Tchaikovsky — " show to what a degree a precon- 
 ceived theory prejudiced the mind of this obstinate, 
 richly-endowed, but narrow-minded German ? " 
 
 His views were practically unchanged when, four 
 years later, in 1876, he went to hear the Nibelungen 
 Ring at Bayreuth. Laroche, who was also there in 
 the capacity of musical critic, says that Tchaikovsky 
 did not conceal from him the fact that the Ring 
 did not afford him any pleasure. "But," adds 
 Laroche, " the company among which he found him- 
 self at Bayreuth made it exceedingly difficult to say 
 anything against Wagner. He had as an inseparable 
 companion one of the professors of the Moscow 
 University, Klindworth, who united an 'adoration' 
 for Tchaikovsky with Wagnerism of the first water 
 and of a most rabid description. In our hearts we 
 Moscovites were all a little afraid of Klindworth, but 
 Peter Ilich was particularly in awe of him, for he was 
 by nature far more deferential and gentle than 
 courageous." The result was that before others 
 Tchaikovsky was either silent about Wagner's 
 music or only spoke in praise of those particular 
 features which happened to please him. But though 
 both in 1863 and 1876 Tchaikovsky passed unmoved 
 through these Wagnerian experiences, there came a 
 moment when he was carried away by a sudden 
 enthusiasm. This was in 1886, when he first saw 
 the pianoforte score of Parsifal, and was delighted 
 
As a Musical Critic 153 
 
 with the close of the last scene of the first act. From 
 that time Laroche thinks that he began to look upon 
 Wagner with different eyes, although he still kept to 
 the laws of opera as formulated by Gluck, and was 
 never attracted by the innovations of the Music 
 Drama. 
 
RUSSIAN MUSIC GLINKA DARGOMIJSKY 
 
 In order to understand Tchaikovsky's attitude 
 towards the composers of his native land, it is 
 necessary to know something of the rival schools of 
 criticism which have divided musical opinion in 
 Russia from the time of Glinka to the present hour. 
 The chief Russian critics were at first unanimous in 
 recognising in Glinka not only the leader of a 
 national movement, but a composer worthy to be 
 ranked with the great composers of all time; It was 
 not until the appearance of his second opera, Russian 
 and Ludmilla, that the schism arose which led to 
 endless controversy and extreme bitterness on the 
 part of the representatives of both sides. On the 
 one hand was Serov, who, taking his stand upon the 
 Wagnerism principle " Opera must be music drama," 
 endeavoured, in a series of articles entitled " Russian 
 and the Russlanists," to prove that whatever might be 
 the intrinsic value of the work as regards music, it 
 could not claim to be considered an opera. ^^ Russian" 
 argues Serov, " has no dramatic interest ; its libretto 
 
Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 155 
 
 is a thing of shreds and patches. It lacks historical 
 significance, vitality, and the savour of real life. A 
 Life for the Tsar, despite the literary weakness 
 of its book, teems with human interest and has 
 a definite dramatic development ; therefore it is 
 legitimate opera. But Russian, at the best, can 
 only be considered as a series of delightful musical 
 illustrations to fantastic scenes ; at the worst, as the 
 interesting failure of a great, but wrong-headed, 
 composer." On the opposite side we find an equally 
 capable and fervent advocate in the person of M. 
 Vladimir Stassov, the friend and biographer of Glinka. 
 He is prepared to maintain that Glinka shows far 
 greater creative power in Russian than in his 
 earlier works. He has thrown off the fetters of 
 conventionality that impeded the free play of his 
 genius in A Life for the Tsar, and reveals himself 
 in his full maturity. Russian, he thinks, must 
 not be considered as an aberration of wilful genius, 
 but as the deliberate work of a man who knows quite 
 well the goal for which he is striving, but prefers to 
 reach it by paths of his own. 
 
 A precisely similar difference of opinion exists 
 with regard to the two great operas of Glinka's con- 
 temporary, Dargomijsky. His earlier effort, the 
 fantastic opera of The Russalka {Water Sprite), 
 was generally accepted as a work of great merit ; 
 while the critics split upon the subject of The Stone 
 Guest, some regarding it as the logical outcome of 
 his artistic theories, and others as the last eccentricity 
 of a warped and incoherent imagination. 
 
156 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Tchaikovsky had not the vigorous critical "mailed- 
 fist " of Serov, nor his obstinate dogmatism and blind 
 adherence to the Wagnerian creed. Neither had he 
 the generous, comprehensive sympathy, nor the fine 
 literary gift of Stassov. His views of Russian music 
 were on the whole slightly coloured by those of Serov, 
 but his remarks upon his compatriots have, generally 
 speaking, a characteristic note of reserve which 
 naturally failed to satisfy the leaders of either party. 
 Writing about these differences of opinion, he 
 says : — 
 
 " It is impossible not to see that Serov's criticism 
 is the more rational. Looking at the question from 
 a specific musical point of view, he never denies the 
 merits of Russian as regards musical material, or, 
 indeed, any of its best qualities. But it is a well- 
 known fact that great works of art are valued less for 
 the undoubted creative force of their authors than 
 for the perfection of form into which this force is 
 moulded, and also for their symmetry and for the 
 successful fusion of the idea and its external expres- 
 sion. Is not this the reason why Beethoven is con- 
 sidered the first of composers, although every musician 
 knows that Mozart, and even Schubert, possessed as 
 great — if not a greater — volume of musical inspira- 
 tion .? If we wished to indicate Glinka's place in the 
 pantheon of musicians, for sheer strength of creative 
 genius, we might place him among the greatest repre- 
 sentatives of his art. But it is a fact that fate did 
 not set Glinka in such an environment as was neces- 
 sary to the full development of his gift. He was a 
 
As a Musical Critic 157 
 
 lion in the sheepskin of dilettantism. . . . Like the 
 rich young man in the parable, he possessed a fund 
 of power which he did not realise, and never under- 
 stood how to give it the direction it deserved. 
 Ahhough the character of his musical nature was 
 pre-eminently lyric and symphonic, Glinka has 
 left hardly any purely symphonic works. Yet, 
 judging from certain episodes in his operas, he might 
 have given us inimitable examples in this style. 
 Deprived of a highly-cultured musical environment, 
 and not having found the support he deserved. 
 Glinka sought an outlet for his inspiration, and was 
 carried away by the first subject that presented itself. 
 He embraced it with ardour, never pausing to con- 
 sider if it was suitable for a successful and serious 
 work of art. For instance, A Life for the Tsar shows 
 that Glinka was fascinated in this way by the 
 contrasting effects of the mazurka-rhythm and the 
 melancholy of the Russian songs. Russian was 
 written for the sake of a few fantastic scenes which 
 had actually excited his musical inspiration — his 
 symphonic rather than his dramatic instincts. Thus it 
 follows that A Life for the Tsar, composed to an 
 accidentally successfvil plot, turned out a fine opera ; 
 while Russian, consisting of disconnected fantastic 
 scenes, put together at different times by different 
 people, cannot be considered a model opera, because 
 of its inorganic structure and total lack of dramatic 
 interest. It is a fairy spectacle joined to most 
 distinguished music." 
 
 Here we have a fairly clear statement of Tchai- 
 
158 Tchaikovsky 
 
 kovsky's opinion of Glinka as an operatic composer. 
 It is my immediate design merely to show Tchai- 
 kovsky as a musical critic, and not to discuss or 
 refute his opinions. But because our whole view of 
 Russian music will be true, or distorted, according to 
 our judgment of Glinka as the source from which it 
 flowed, it seems only just to say that — viewed in the 
 light of biographical facts — this idea of Glinka, as a 
 gifted but irresponsible amateur, requires considerable 
 modification. It is true that he was denied the 
 doubtful blessing of academic training, but when we 
 remember his sojourn in Italy, his visit to Paris, 
 where he listened to and learned from the music of 
 Berlioz, his musical tour in Spain, and his brief but 
 severe course of study under one of the first theorists 
 of his day, it is absurd to imagine that he entered 
 upon his operatic tasks with less preparation than the 
 average Conservatoire student. Can we believe that 
 Glinka, who for thirty years had meditated the 
 creation of a national opera, was induced to compose 
 A Life for the Tsar merely for the sake of contrasting 
 Russian and Polish rhythms } Equally the whole 
 history of his musical development contradicts the 
 theory that Russian owes its existence to purely 
 fortuitous circumstances. 
 
 As Tchaikovsky looks upon Glinka as a great 
 symphonic composer, led astray by the tastes of the 
 society in which he lived, it is interesting to read 
 what he has to say about his finest eiFort in this 
 sphere of art. The incidental music to the tragedy 
 Prince Kholmsky is a most remarkable work, and 
 
As a Musical Critic 159 
 
 contains, besides the instrumental entr'actes, at least 
 two of Glinka's finest songs. But the work has 
 never been appreciated by the Russian public, and 
 is still unaccountably neglected in this country, 
 where Russian music is often better received 
 than it is in Petersburg and Moscow. " In this 
 composition," says Tchaikovsky, " Glinka shows 
 himself one of the greatest symphonic composers of 
 his day. Many touches in Prince Kholmsky 
 recall the brush of Beethoven. There is the same 
 moderation in the means employed and total absence 
 of all striving after mere external effects ; the same 
 sober beauty and clear exposition of ideas that are 
 not laboured, but inspired ; the same plasticity of 
 form and mould. Finally, there is the same inimit- 
 able instrumentation, so remote from all that is 
 affected or far-fetched ; strong, but never noisy ; 
 solid, and free from all flimsiness or vagueness of 
 harmonic design. Every entr'acte which follows the 
 overture is a little picture, drawn by a master-hand. 
 They are symphonic marvels which would suffice a 
 second-rate composer for a whole series of long 
 symphonies." 
 
 Tchaikovsky has not much insight into the char- 
 acter of Dargomijsky's genius. He himself was so 
 invariably preoccupied with the purely musical beauty 
 of his vocal works that he frequently sacrifices truth 
 of expression to a love of graceful cantilena. How 
 then should he be in sympathy with Dargomijsky, to 
 whom expressive realism was the chief aim of vocal 
 art, and a fine literary text an object of veneration ? 
 
i6o Tchaikovsky- 
 
 He admits that The Russalka, by reason of its 
 melodic charm, sincerity of inspiration, and elegance 
 of cantilena and recitative, must be ranked next to 
 the operas of Glinka. But he does not believe in his 
 further development. The same unfavourable cir- 
 cumstances — the lack of academic training — which 
 impeded the artistic evolution of Glinka, were, ac- 
 cording to Tchaikovsky, equally prejudicial to Dar- 
 gomij sky's career. He says : "It was only by means 
 of his surprisingly delicate instinct, and his strong 
 individuality, that Dargomijsky managed to attain, 
 in certain aspects of opera, to a degree of perfection 
 reached by only a few of the elect. His strength lay 
 exclusively in his wonderful realism and in his emin- 
 ently vocal recitative ; qualities which lend to his 
 splendid opera the charm of inimitable originality. 
 The composer recognised the dominant quality of 
 his gift; but this knowledge, which unfortunately 
 was not supported by a sober, critical instinct, led him 
 to the strange notion of composing an opera consist- 
 ing entirely of recitative. With this intention, Dar- 
 gomijsky selected the text of ' The Stone Guest ' by 
 Poushkin, and without altering a single letter of it, 
 without adapting it to the practical demands of opera 
 — he fitted recitative to every line of the lengthy 
 text. We know that recitative has no definite 
 rhythm, no clearly defined melody or musical form — 
 it is merely the cement which unites the various parts 
 of a musical edifice. It is indispensable, on the one 
 hand, because of the ordinary conditions of scenic 
 development ; and on the other, because it forms a 
 
As a Musical Critic i6i 
 
 contrast to the lyrical situations in the opera. What 
 an aberration of a daring mind, unguided by any 
 sober conception of aesthetic development ! To 
 write an opera without music — is not this the same 
 as writing a drama without words or action ? " 
 
 M 
 
VI 
 
 SEROV RIMSKY-KORSAKOV 
 
 Although Tchaikovsky was sometimes influenced 
 by Serov as a critic, and was entirely carried away by 
 his enthusiasm for his early opera Judith, yet he 
 was able to gauge with perfect accuracy the artificial 
 causes of this composer's success. Writing of one of 
 his later works, Rogneda, he says : " The continued 
 success of this opera, and the firm place it has won in 
 the Russian repertory, is due not so much to its 
 intrinsic beauty as to the subtle calculation of effects 
 which guided its composer. Beginning to write at a 
 time of life when other and more strongly gifted 
 composers are already on the wane, he worked less 
 from inward impulse than because, having for years 
 made a critical study of music in all its branches, he 
 saw that he could take up the work rapidly and with 
 ease. Undoubtedly a talented musician of such re- 
 markable intellect, and possessed of such stores of 
 varied erudition as Serov, had every chance of winning 
 popular sympathy. The public of all nations are not 
 
Tchaikovsky as a Musical Critic 163 
 
 particularly exacting in matters of aesthetics ; they 
 delight in external and sensational effects and violent 
 contrasts, and are quite indiiFerent to deep and original 
 works of art if their mise en scene are not highly 
 coloured, showy, and brilliant. Thus it was with Serov. 
 He knew how to catch the public ; and if his opera 
 suffers from poverty of melodic inspiration, from want 
 of organic sequence, from weak recitative and de- 
 clamation, and from harmony and instrumentation 
 which are crude and merely decorative in effect — yet 
 what sensational effects the composer succeeds in 
 piling up ! Mummers who turn into geese and bears, 
 real horses and dogs, the touching episode of Ruald's 
 death, the Prince's dream made actually visible to our 
 eyes, the Chinese gongs made very audible to our ears, 
 all this — the outcome of a recognised poverty of 
 inspiration — ^literally crackles with startling effects. 
 Serov, as I have said, had only a mediocre gift, united 
 to great experience, remarkable intellect, and extensive 
 erudition ; therefore it is not surprising to find in 
 Rogneda numbers — like rare oases in a desert — in 
 which the music is excellent. Such are the Chorus 
 of Idolaters in the second act ; Iziaslav's charming 
 little song : Rogneda's ballad ; and the fine hymn with 
 which the opera winds up. As to those numbers 
 which are the special favourites of the public, as is so 
 frequently the case, their real value proves to be in 
 inverse proportion to the success they have won. 
 For instance, the duet between Ruald and the 
 Traveller is neither better nor worse than a dozen 
 Italian operatic duets. The celebrated third act owes 
 
1 64 Tchaikovsky 
 
 its success, on the one hand, to the beautiful chorus 
 a capella, and, on the other, to the touching sentiment 
 of faith and love — in the Christian sense of the word 
 — which is awakened by the episode of Ruald's 
 death." 
 
 With those members of the Russian school who 
 were his more immediate contemporaries Tchaikovsky 
 was rarely in complete sympathy. Naturally he could 
 never be in touch with the talent of Moussorgsky, the 
 fervent disciple of Dargomijsky's later doctrines of 
 realism and declamatory science. For Balakirev he 
 seems to have felt the respect due from one great 
 craftsman to another. Here, at least, there could be 
 no question of faulty training or amateur pretensions. 
 He admired Balakirev as a conductor, and regretted 
 that his counsels of perfection led to such a small 
 output as regards composition. 
 
 I have mentioned that his first article was written 
 to call public attention to an early work by Rimsky- 
 Korsakov. As time went on, Tchaikovsky was more 
 frequently brought into personal rivalry with Korsakov 
 than with any other member of the New Russian 
 school. More than once they were engaged in actual 
 public competition, and on several occasions chose the 
 same subjects for their works. This in no way 
 impaired their friendly relations, but the note of 
 characteristic difference between them was accentuated 
 with advancing years. Tchaikovsky himself, so frankly 
 passionate in expression, was unable to understand the 
 emotional reticence of Rimsky-Korsakov any more 
 than that of Brahms. In both cases he attributes it 
 
As a Musical Critic 165 
 
 to constitutional coldness and a lack of inspiration. 
 The following paragraphs show how Tchaikovsky 
 regarded the artistic development of Rimsky- 
 Korsakov, who, as a lyric and symphonic composer, 
 stood nearer to him, in some respects, than any other 
 among his compatriots. 
 
 " The general impression of the symphony," ^ he 
 says, " may be resumed as follows : the predominance 
 of technical skill over the quality of the ideas, and a 
 lack of inspiration and fire. In place of these, we have 
 an elaborate design, with a superfluity of elegant details. 
 This symphony seems to have been petted and 
 coaxed into existence with the kind of maternal love 
 which believes that all education consists in warming, 
 feeding, and coddling the child. Rimsky-Korsakov 
 is apparently in a transition stage. He is still seeking 
 a point of support, still wavering between what is 
 modern and a secret sympathy for old and archaic 
 musical forms, which may be traced in him from the 
 beginning. This Philistine — a conservative at heart 
 — has been enticed into the arena of the free-thinkers, 
 and is timidly making his abjuration of faith. As a 
 result of this want of sincerity, Rimsky-Korsakov's 
 recent works have become dry, cold, and formless ; a 
 condition of things not always concealed by his elegant 
 workmanship and minute stippling. For this reason 
 we cannot be surprised that the public do not receive 
 his symphony with particular enthusiasm. 
 
 " Connoisseurs cannot fail to be dehghted with the 
 charming details and a play of sound-combinations so 
 1 This criticism probably refers to the Third Symphony (op. 32). 
 
1 66 Tchaikovsky 
 
 flattering to the ear. Through the two masks of the 
 Philistine and the innovator, which the composer 
 alternately dons without being able to decide frankly 
 to which side he belongs, we get constant glimpses of 
 a strong, highly gifted, elegantly plastic individuality. 
 When he has gone through this process of moral 
 fermentation, which apparently proceeds from his 
 inherent musical disposition, and has reached some 
 definite stage in his development, Rimsky-Korsakov 
 will certainly turn out one of the first symphonists of 
 the day. But he will join the classical school to which 
 his musical nature inclines, rather than the formless 
 romantic school of Berlioz and Liszt. Then he will 
 be a musical eclectic in the best sense of the word — 
 as Glinka was — uniting in himself strict classical forms 
 and methods with that dazzling beauty of modern 
 exposition, wherein lies the imprescriptible quality of 
 the new school." 
 
 Rimsky-Korsakov has not fulfilled Tchaikovsky's 
 prediction that he would eventually revert to classicism. 
 Starting with a knowledge of, and reverence for, formal 
 tradition, unique among the Russian composers, he has 
 nevertheless consistently followed the path which 
 attracted him most, the musical illustration of national 
 legend and national landscape. Indeed the accusation 
 of wavering faith and want of sincerity comes strangely 
 from Tchaikovsky, who, from the beginning to the 
 end of his career, gave no signs of definite adherence 
 to the old forms or the new. A glance at the list of 
 his works will show how, starting with a programme 
 symphony of a not very advanced type, he modified 
 
As a Musical Critic 167 
 
 his modern tendencies in the Second Symphony only 
 to revert to them in The Tempest. Again, having 
 written his Third Symphony under clearly conven- 
 tional influences, he shows us in Francesca di Rimini 
 that programme music still has its fascinations for 
 his genius ; and so on, throughout the whole list of 
 his opus numbers — Manfred following the Fourth 
 Symphony, and Hamlet the Fifth. The same un- 
 certainty characterises his use of national colour. 
 Like so many of his fellow-countrymen, sometimes 
 he uses foreign idioms with the fluency of a cosmo- 
 politan, sometimes he speaks in a way that only 
 Russians can understand. In this complex dual 
 attitude lies much of Tchaikovsky's charm ; and much 
 of his weakness — 
 
 Oui, mon malheur irreparable, 
 Cast de pendre aux deux elements. 
 
DIARY OF MY TOUR IN 1888 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN 
 
 In 1886 it was proposed to produce my opera 
 Cherevichek (" Two little Shoes ") at the Great 
 Theatre of Moscow. The scenery, elaborately de- 
 signed by K. Valtz, was quite ready ; all the superb 
 mounting, upon which, during the previous year, 
 I. A. Vsievolovsky had decided to expend a con- 
 siderable sum, was complete, and the music was also 
 finished. Meanwhile I — who was then residing in 
 the country near Klin — lived in daily expectation of 
 a summons to attend the first rehearsal in Moscow. 
 But the season drew to its close, a few weeks only 
 remained before Easter, and still the expected 
 summons did not come. During that winter the 
 business of the opera-house had been almost brought 
 to a standstill in consequence of the prolonged 
 illness of the conductor, I. K. Altani. At the begin- 
 ning of December 1885 it was confidently believed 
 that this respected artist, who was making a slow 
 recovery to health, would soon return to his desk. 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 169 
 
 where his place was filled by the chorus -master, 
 Avranek, who had almost broken down under the 
 strain of double work. But Altani's illness was vari- 
 able, and the period of convalescence was obstinately 
 prolonged. Just as I began to realise that Cherevichek 
 was not likely to be offered to the judgment of 
 the Moscow public during the season of 1885-86, 
 and had concluded that the performance must be 
 postponed for some future season, an unexpected oiFer 
 was made to the directors by a young musician in 
 Moscow, who professed his readiness to take Altani's 
 place and produce my complicated score at some 
 date in the immediate future. The offer was at once 
 communicated to me, and M. P. M. Pchelnikov, 
 then the head of the theatrical administration, begged 
 me to say if I had sufficient confidence in this sub- 
 stitute to entrust him with the rehearsing and conduct- 
 ing of Cherevichek. As I set a high value on Altani's 
 friendliness to me as a composer, and also esteemed 
 his remarkable talent and experience, I promptly 
 declined the proposal of this young musician to 
 take the place of my respected friend at the con- 
 ductor's desk. At the same time, as I did not wish 
 to put any obstacle in the way of the directors, if it 
 seemed to their advantage to give an immediate per- 
 formance of my opera, I adopted the heroic measure of 
 offering my own services as- conductor. They thanked 
 me cordially, and accepted my proposal. But finally 
 a combination of different circumstances made the 
 performance Impossible during the season of 1885-86. 
 The following season, when the staging of Chere- 
 
lyo Tchaikovsky 
 
 vkhek came once more under consideration, Altani 
 had completely regained his health, and there appeared 
 no need whatever for me to attempt to act as 
 conductor. Nevertheless the chiefs of the theatrical 
 administration, and Altani himself, as well as my 
 numerous friends in Moscow, still wished me to 
 conduct the rehearsal and the first public performance 
 of my opera in person. It had long been the pre- 
 valent opinion that I had no gift whatever for 
 conducting ; and I myself clung obstinately to the 
 belief that I was completely incapable — so much so, 
 that my timid efforts, on two separate occasions, to 
 conquer my morbid nervousness and appear before 
 the public had ended most disastrously in my entire 
 discomfiture. If, however, my well-wishers, includ- 
 ing Altani, desired, in spite of this, to make me 
 overcome my diffidence, and were anxious that I 
 should make one more effort, in my declining years, 
 to become a conductor, they were doubtless guided 
 by sincere affection and by a strong conviction that 
 my lack of talent as a conductor was a great hindrance 
 to the spread of my works, and believed that if I 
 once conquered myself and succeeded in conducting — 
 if only tolerably— some of my compositions, the result 
 would be a great impulse to the popularising of my 
 music and a rapid increase of my fame as a composer. 
 Fortified by the warm sympathy of my friends, 
 and the invaluable advice and guidance of Altani, 
 as well as by my entire confidence in the indulgence 
 of the Moscow public, who had encouraged my 
 first efforts as a composer, and, since that time, had 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 171 
 
 invariably shown me the most cordial sympathy — on 
 19th January 1887, at 8 p.m., I took the conductor's 
 place in the orchestra of the Great Opera House, and 
 successfully conducted the first performance of Chere- 
 vichek. I was then forty-seven years of age. At this 
 time of life a real, inborn conductor has plenty of 
 capacity, in proportion to his natural gifts and length 
 of experience ; when it is borne in mind that such 
 was not the case with me, my debut may be con- 
 sidered exceedingly successful. I still think that I have 
 no positive gift for conducting. I am aware that I 
 do not possess that combination of moral and physical 
 qualities which make an ordinary musician a con- 
 ductor of the first rank ; but this attempt — and all 
 subsequent ones — proved that I could more or less 
 successfully direct the performance of my works, and 
 this was all that was necessary for my future success. 
 I have considered it important to relate in detail 
 the story of my first attempt at conducting, because 
 among the many good results which it led to was 
 the three months' concert tour which I made through 
 Western Europe. Of the success which attended 
 this tour I cannot fail to be proud, and I afterwards 
 resolved to relate the details to the Russian public ; 
 for, with the exception of Glinka, who gave but 
 one concert in Paris, and Rubinstein, who, thanks to 
 his gifts as a virtuoso, won laurels on all the platforms 
 of the world, I was the first Russian to introduce my 
 works personally abroad. I venture to think that 
 there are a considerable number of Russians to whom 
 this account will be of interest. 
 
II 
 
 Six weeks after the events related above, when 
 experience had proved me to possess sufficient 
 capability to conduct opera, I made a similar attempt 
 on the concert platform. On 4th March 1887 I 
 conducted a concert given in the Salle de la Noblesse, 
 St. Petersburg, by the Philharmonic Society, the 
 programme of which consisted entirely of my com- 
 positions. The experiment was crowned with success. 
 To my great astonishment, I heard from those in 
 whose judgment I have the fullest confidence such 
 flattering opinions of my conducting that my heart 
 beat for joy, and I could not help feeling proud of 
 having won a victory over myself, and over that 
 desperate, cruel, tyrannical, moral ailment against 
 which I had contended all my life — namely, nervous- 
 ness. Only one well-known musical critic showed 
 no moderation in his judgment of me. He had 
 hailed my debut as a composer in the following words : 
 " M. Tchaikovsky is very poor ; he has not a spark 
 of talent." This is very severe ; but he equally 
 distorted the truth when he said I was an "admirable" 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 173 
 
 conductor. However, I did not believe him on this 
 occasion any more than I believed his earlier state- 
 ment as to my absolute want of talent. Men who 
 first take up the conductor's baton at forty -seven 
 cannot possibly be " admirable " conductors ; indeed 
 it is useless to hope that they will become such, even 
 if they have the necessary natural endowment ; and 
 I am perfectly aware that innate nervousness, weak- 
 ness of character, and want of self-confidence will 
 always prevent me from competing with such 
 conductors as Wagner, Biilow, and Napravnik. 
 Only one thing, I repeat, was of importance to me : 
 to be able to conduct my own works no worse than 
 any other mediocre conductor would have done. I 
 foresaw that, thanks to this victory over my incapacity, 
 it would now be possible for me to make my music 
 known at home and abroad, and very soon my 
 premonition became actual fact. 
 
 In June I received an invitation from the Hamburg 
 Philharmonic Society to conduct some of my works 
 in the following January. Afterwards I received 
 similar invitations from Vienna, Dresden, Copenhagen, 
 Prague, Leipzig, Berlin, and London. As regards 
 Paris, Felix Mackar — a great enthusiast for my 
 music — had already promised that I should appear 
 there as conductor at a concert which he wished to 
 organise during the winter season. 
 
 A very natural ambition to extend as far as 
 possible the circle of my fame as a composer did 
 not prevent me from cherishing a hope that I might 
 also succeed in serving the cause of Russian art, and 
 
1 74 Tchaikovsky 
 
 popularise the works of other Russian composers on 
 my travels. Imagining that I possessed sufficient 
 funds to risk giving a Russian concert in Paris on 
 my own account, at which should figure the names 
 of Glinka, Dargomijsky, Serov, Rubinstein, Balakirev, 
 Rimsky-Korsakov, Glazounov, Liadov, and Arensky, 
 I firmly resolved to follow up the concert arranged by 
 Felix Mackar, at which only my music was to be per- 
 formed, by another consisting of the works of these 
 stars. It was extremely flattering and agreeable to 
 think that I might be the one to interpret these 
 gems of Russian music to a French public imbued 
 and inspired with sympathy for everything Russian. 
 The evening before my departure, I spent some hours 
 in the society of three of my most valued musical 
 friends, Rimsky-Korsakov, Liadov, and Glazounov, 
 with whom I worked out in every detail the 
 programme of the enterprise I meditated carrying 
 out. Thus, in quitting Petersburg I had three ends 
 in view — to conduct my own works in Leipzig and 
 other foreign towns, and to conduct two concerts in 
 Paris, one of which was to be devoted to my own 
 works, and the other to be organised at my own risk. 
 For two months preceding my departure I had 
 also been in correspondence with a certain Herr N., 
 a concert-agent abroad, who showed himself most 
 zealous in the propagation of my works out of 
 Russia, going so far as to consider; it practicable for 
 me to visit a whole series of second-rate towns in 
 Germany and Austria, because he had formed a very 
 exaggerated estimate of the interest which my music 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 175 
 
 awakened in these neighbouring empires. But, 
 realising with consternation that Herr N. was going 
 too far in his zeal, I declined to accept — whether he 
 liked it or not — his proposal for a personal interview 
 which was to take place in Germany. When later 
 on it actually did take place, it seemed to me that 
 I had to do with a very peculiar and eccentric man, 
 and from that moment to this I have never really 
 understood him. Whether from inexperience or 
 misapprehension, or from a natural want of practical 
 ability and tact, or simply from some abnormal, 
 morbid condition of mind, in any case Herr N- was 
 very unreliable, and being apparently my devoted 
 friend, his actions were sometimes those of an enemy. 
 He did me many important services, for which I 
 shall never cease to be grateful, but he was also the 
 cause of several serious unpleasantnesses and annoy- 
 ances that befell me during my tour. Thus, even 
 now, I cannot form any just opinion upon this 
 singular man, who remains altogether an enigma to 
 me. I was equally puzzled as to his nationality — 
 he called himself Russian, but spoke the language 
 atrociously — his position in the world, and more 
 especially as to the motive which guided his conduct 
 towards me, now persecuting me with hostile pro- 
 ceedings, now rendering me the most valuable 
 service. In any case, I must acknowledge that it 
 was entirely due to his initiative that I owed my 
 invitations to Leipzig, Prague, and Copenhagen. 
 This last city I did not succeed in visiting, because 
 I had not time ; while the concert at Dresden never 
 
176 Tchaikovsky 
 
 even came off, in consequence of Herr N.'s strange 
 and unpractical management. Nor was it my luck 
 to make the Viennese acquainted with my music, 
 because the day fixed for the concert in Vienna was 
 identical with the date on which I had to be in Paris. 
 Finally, the incomprehensible and eccentric fancy of 
 Herr N.'s to compel me to wander through a series 
 of little German towns, conducting a miniature 
 orchestra which was quite incapable of rendering 
 my difficult and complicated scores, was, needless to 
 say, never realised. The Russian concert I meditated 
 giving in Paris proved a childishly impossible dream, 
 about which I will speak more fully elsewhere. Thus 
 it happened that I only visited Leipzig, Hamburg, 
 Berlin, Prague, Paris, and London. I now return 
 to my story. 
 
Ill 
 
 I LEFT St. Petersburg on 15th (27th) December, and 
 arrived in Berlin on the 17th (29th). Here I wished 
 to interview the director (Vorsteher) of the Berlin 
 Philharmonic Society, Herr Schneider, who had been 
 corresponding with me about the concert in February, 
 which was to consist entirely of my works, and at 
 which I was to act as conductor. A personal inter- 
 view was necessary in order to discuss the details of 
 the programme, and the matter presented some 
 difficulties, for Schneider, who desired for my own 
 interests to please the Berlin public, did not altogether 
 agree with my selection of works. He wished to 
 include some that I did not care for, and at the same 
 time to omit those of which I was most proud, and 
 by which the splendid Berlin orchestra might have 
 shown me at my best. However, this time I did not 
 succeed in seeing Herr Schneider, for the following 
 reason. In the newspaper which the waiter brought 
 with my tea I read, with horror, the following lines 
 about my arrival: "To-day, 29th January, the Rus- 
 sian composer Tchaikovsky arrives in Berlin. His 
 numerous friends (.'') and admirers (?) will assemble 
 
 N 
 
1 7 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 to celebrate his arrival by a Fruhschapp (breakfast) 
 
 at Restaurant, in such-and-such a street, at 
 
 o'clock." I must explain that Herr N. had 
 
 already spoken of this Fruhschapp in a letter to me 
 at Petersburg, and had even sent me a copy of the 
 circular which he had distributed through Berlin, in 
 which all music-lovers, artists, and fellow-countrymen 
 of mine living in the town were invited to assemble 
 at a certain hour in one of the best-known restaurants, 
 because Herr N. informed them that I was exceed- 
 ingly modest, and wished the welcome to be of quite 
 a friendly and intimate character. On receiving this 
 letter I telegraphed immediately to Herr N. that 
 I distinctly dechned to take part in this festivity, and 
 that I would not on any account appear at this 
 friendly Fruhschapp. Therefore I was beyond 
 measure incensed when I now saw in the paper that 
 he had not dropped the matter, but even published 
 this on the day of my arrival. Luckily Herr N, 
 did not know where I was staying, and I decided 
 not to let him know of my arrival until the next 
 day. I think it wiU be clear to most of my readers 
 why this proceeding on the part of Herr N. — who 
 sinceirely wished to render me a service, but had a 
 most singular notion of how to do it — covered me 
 with confusion, horror, and fright. But to such of 
 my readers as know little or nothing of the attitude 
 of the foreign public towards Russian composers, I 
 will merely say that not only had I very few admirerS 
 in Berlin, but that previously to this my music was 
 almost unknown there. A few of my orchestral 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 179 
 
 works had been occasionally heard, it is true. Bilze, 
 at his National Concerts, had often played the 
 Andante from my Quartet ; but the whole acquaint- 
 ance of the BerUners with my music was Hmited to 
 these few bars ; and as to my " nuriierous friends 
 and admirers," I was a complete stranger in Berlin. 
 With the exceptions of the head of the firm of Bote 
 and Bock, Herr Hugo Bock, I had not a single 
 acquaintance. Moreover there could be no question 
 of admirers, for the few things of mine which had 
 hitherto been performed in Berlin had had no 
 particular success, and the Press had not been 
 unanimous in its praise. This puffery of Herr N.'s, 
 this idea of honouring me in Berlin by means of a 
 Fruhschapp, is the best example of his queer, un- 
 methodical, flighty way of acting on my behalf. 
 Yet he was, to all appearances, really well-intentioned, 
 and with incredible zeal, energy, and eccentricity, 
 devoted all his time and thought to making my 
 name familiar to the German publi^c. The result of 
 aU this was that I felt almost ashamed of myself. 
 It seemed to me that all the musical world of Berlin 
 would be laughing at me, and thinking perhaps that 
 / wanted, through the medium of Herr N., to get up 
 this festive reception which I did not merit. I felt no 
 further desire to see any one in the German capital, 
 and the next day, having seen and tried to explain to 
 Herr N., and after visiting K. V. Davidov — ^who was 
 then passing through Berlin, and whom it was a great 
 pleasure to meet again — I started for Leipzig, from 
 whence I began my tour through Western Europe. 
 
IV 
 
 In Leipzig I met three compatriots and one German 
 critic. My fellow - countrymen were : Brodsky, 
 Siloti, and Arthur Friedheim. The two first are very 
 well known to the Russian public, especially in 
 Moscow. I had long been on intimate terms with 
 Brodsky, who was for some time a professor at the 
 Moscow Conservatoire when I took the theory class 
 there. In 1877 Brodsky left Moscow, spent one 
 season at Kiev as director of the Musical Society, 
 and, after travelling about for a considerable time, 
 was finally appointed to the honourable post of 
 Professor of the Violin at the Leipzig Conservatoire, 
 where he won universal affection and esteem both as 
 a man and as an artist. In speaking of this admir- 
 able master, I must take this opportunity of expressing 
 in public the sincere gratitude which I shall feel for 
 him till my dying day. The reason is as follows. In 
 1877 I wrote a violin concerto which I dedicated to 
 Auer. I do not know whether my dedication was 
 flattering to Herr Auer, but, in spite of his genuine 
 friendship, he never tried to conquer the difficulties 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 181 
 
 of this concerto. He pronounced it impossible to 
 play, and this verdict, coming from such an authority 
 as the Petersburg virtuoso, had the effect of casting 
 this unfortunate child of my imagination for many 
 years to come into the limbo of hopelessly forgotten 
 things. Five years later, however, I was staying in 
 Rome, and going into a cafe, chanced to pick, up a 
 number of the Neue Freie Presse containing a 
 criticism, by the celebrated Hanslick, of a concert 
 given by the Vienna Philharmonic Society, the pro- 
 gramme of which included my unlucky concerto, 
 which Auer's verdict had doomed to extinction. 
 Hanslick found fault with the player (who was none 
 other than Brodsky himself) for his unfortunate 
 selection, and cut up my poor concerto unmercifully, 
 not sparing the pearls of his caustic humour, nor the 
 poisoned arrows of his sarcasm. " We know," he 
 writes, " that certain works have recently appeared in 
 contemporary literature, the authors of which delight 
 in reproducing certain revolting physiological pheno- 
 mena, as, for example, disgusting smells. Such 
 literature may be well termed — stinking. Tchai- 
 kovsky's concerto appears to us to belong to the 
 category of 'stinking music.'" On reading this 
 notice by the celebrated and influential critic, I called 
 up a lively picture of all the energy and pains that 
 Brodsky must have expended in carrying out this 
 performance of my "stinking" concerto, and 
 thought how annoying and unpleasant he would find 
 this kind criticism upon a friend and compatriot. I 
 Jiastened, therefore, to express my warmest gratitude 
 
1 8 2 Tchaikovsky 
 
 to Brodsky, and learnt from the letter he wrote in 
 reply what difficulties and trials he had gone through 
 in order to accomplish his aim — the resuscitation of 
 my concerto from the depths of oblivion. After- 
 wards Brodsky played the' "stinking concerto" 
 everywhere, and everywhere the critics abused him in 
 the same style as Hanslick. But the deed was done ; 
 my concerto was saved, and is now frequently played 
 in Western Europe, especially since there came to 
 Brodsky's assistance another fine violinist, young 
 Halir, of whom I shall often have occasion to speak. 
 It will now be evident how pleased I was to meet 
 Brodsky in Leipzig, where I was a stranger without 
 friends, and to look forward, amid the fears and 
 agitations which beset me, to the moral support of 
 his long-standing and intimate friendship. 
 
 Not less glad was I to see once more that young, 
 but already celebrated, pianist Siloti. I had known 
 him when a mere boy, a pupil of the Moscow Con- 
 servatoire, where he went through some finishing 
 courses in composition under my guidance. Since 
 then Siloti, who had studied the piano under Nicholas 
 Rubinstein, and after his death under Liszt, had won 
 a great name in Russia and Germany, especially in 
 Leipzig, where he had been living for several years, 
 visiting other German and Russian cities from time 
 to time. This young artist, like Brodsky, rendered 
 me many a friendly service, and did a great deal 
 towards making my works known in Germany. 
 Thanks to him, I found in Leipzig a circle of 
 musicians who did me the honour of showing great 
 
Diary of My Tour in i888 183 
 
 interest in my music. This was of great importance 
 to me, for I entered Leipzig — a town renowned for 
 its violent conservatism in general and its rabid anti- 
 Russian feeling in particular — as into a hostile camp, 
 with the sense of attracting all its insolence and 
 derision to myself. Of course there was some 
 exaggeration in this feeling, for, as the reader wiU 
 presently see, the Germans as a rule do not hate us 
 so outrageously as many think. But it is a fact that 
 I suffered a gr^at deal from the consciousness of this 
 fancied enmity in Leipzig, and that it was very 
 consoling to find some amateurs among its inhabit- 
 ants who knew my music and felt a genuine sym- 
 pathy for it — and for its composer. 
 
 The third fellow-countryman whom I met in 
 Leipzig was Arthur Friedheim, a talented pianist and 
 pupil of Liszt's, a native of Petersburg, who had been 
 living for some time in Leipzig. As regards the 
 German who came to the station in order to receive 
 me, he was Martin Krause, the influential critic of 
 the Leipzig Tageblatt, an intimate friend of Siloti's, 
 who took a very gratifying interest in my music. 
 
 I found, on my arrival at Leipzig, the same really 
 severe winter weather as in Russia. Snow lay thick 
 in the streets, and I went almost straight from the 
 station — in a little sledge very ingeniously contrived 
 — to a Christmas Tree at Brodsky's. I found him 
 established in thoroughly Russian surroundings, and 
 these were further graced by the presence of two very 
 sympathetic Russian ladies, the wife and sister-in-law 
 of my host. During recent years I had hardly ever 
 
1 84 Tchaikovsky 
 
 left home, and being quite unaccustomed to stay 
 away from my country for long together, I felt 
 restless and homesick ; therefore no words will 
 describe the comfort I derived, both that evening and 
 subsequently, during my three different visits to 
 Leipzig, whenever I had occasion to spend a few 
 hours in Mr. Brodsky's family. I was also very 
 pleased to visit Siloti, who had not long since married 
 a young lady whom 1 had known almost as a child in 
 Moscow, and with whom I had long been on terms 
 of intimate friendship. 
 
The next day I made two very interesting acquaint- 
 ances. Going to Brodsky's for the one o'clock 
 dinner, I heard sounds of the piano, violin, and 
 'cello. They were rehearsing for the next day's 
 performance of Brahms's new Pianoforte Trio (op. 
 lOo), and the composer himself was at the piano. 
 Thus it chanced that I saw the famous German 
 musician for the first time. Brahms is rather a short 
 man, suggests a sort of amplitude, and possesses 
 a very sympathetic appearance. His fine head, 
 almost that of an old man, recalls the type of a 
 handsome, benign, elderly Russian priest. His 
 features are certainly not characteristic of Russian 
 good looks, and I cannot conceive why some learned 
 ethnographer (Brahms himself told me this after I 
 had spoken of the impression his appearance made 
 upon me) chose to reproduce his head on the first 
 page of one of his books as being highly character- 
 istic of German features. A certain softness of 
 outline, pleasing curves, rather long and slightly 
 grizzled hair, kind grey eyes, and a thick beard 
 
1 86 Tchaikovsky 
 
 freely sprinkled with white — all this recalled at once 
 the type of pure-bred Great Russian, so frequently 
 met with among our clergy. 
 
 Brahms's manner is very simple, free from vanity, 
 his humour jovial, and the few hours spent in his 
 society left me with a very agreeable recollection. 
 Unfortunately I was forced to confess that, in spite 
 of a somewhat prolonged stay among them in 
 Leipzig, I had not got on very well with the most 
 prominent representatives of modern German music. 
 The reason was as follows. Like all my Russian 
 musical friends, without exception, I only respected 
 in Brahms an honourable, energetic musician of 
 strong convictions ; but, in spite of all efforts to the 
 contrary, I never could, and never can, admire his 
 music. Brahmsism is very widespread throughout 
 Germany ; there are a number of authoritative people 
 and an entire musical institution specially consecrated 
 to the Brahms cult, and he is considered a great man, 
 almost the equal of Beethoven. But there are anti- 
 Brahmsites in Germany and everywhere beyond the 
 German frontier, with the excepition, perhaps, of 
 London, where, thanks to the energetic propaganda 
 of Joachim, who is very popular in England, the 
 greatness of Brahms is recognised to a certain extent. 
 Everywhere else, as I say, there reigns complete 
 ignorance and ignoring of Brahms. But nowhere, 
 perhaps, has he made less way than in Russia. 
 There is something dry, cold, vague, and nebulous in 
 the music of this master which is repellent to Russian 
 hearts. From our Russian point of view Brahms 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 187 
 
 does not possess melodic invention. His musical 
 ideas never speak to the point ; hardly have we 
 heard an allusion to some tangible rtielodic phrase 
 than it disappears in a whirlpool of almost unmean- 
 ing harmonic progressions and modulations, as 
 though the composer's special aim was to be incom- 
 prehensible and obscure. Thus he excites and 
 irritates our musical perceptions, as it were, yet is un- 
 willing to satisfy their demands ; he seems ashamed, 
 to put it plainly, to speak clearly and reach the 
 heart. Hearing his music, we ask ourselves : Is 
 Brahms deep, or does he only desire to have the 
 semblance of depth in order to mask the poverty of 
 his imagination .'' This question is never satisfactorily 
 answered. 
 
 It is impossible in listening to Brahms's music to say 
 that it is weak or unremarkable. His style is always 
 elevated. Unlike all our contemporary musicians, 
 he never has recourse to purely external effects ; he 
 never attempts to astonish us, to strike us" by some 
 new and brilliant orchestral combination ; nor do we 
 meet in his music with anything trivial or directly 
 imitative. It is all very serious, very distinguished, 
 apparently even .original, but in spite of all this the 
 chief thing is lacking — beau tv i. This is my view of 
 Brahms, and .as far as I know it is shared by all 
 Russian composers and all the musical public of 
 Russia. A few years ago, when I frankly . expressed 
 my opinion of Brahms to Hans von Biilow, he 
 replied : " Wait awhile, the time will come when 
 you will enter into the depth and beauty of Brahms. 
 
1 8 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Like you, it was long before I understood him, but 
 gradually I was blessed by the revelation of his 
 genius. It will be the same with you." And still I 
 wait ; but the revelation tarries. I deeply revere the 
 artistic personality of Brahms. I bow to the actual 
 purity of his musical tendencies, and admire his firm 
 and proud renunciation of all the tricks which 
 solemnise the Wagnerian cult, and in a much less 
 degree the worship of Liszt, but I do not care for 
 his music. 
 
 My readers will see that this fact prevented my 
 seeking for an intimate acquaintance with the very 
 attractive personality of Brahms. I met him in the 
 society of devoted partisans (of whom Brodsky is 
 one), and it appeared to me unseemly — seeing that 
 I was a stranger and did not share in the worship of 
 their idol — to bring any discordant element into the 
 complete harmony of these intensely devout believers 
 in this musical dogma. Brahms himself, as though 
 he distinctly understood, or was actually aware of, 
 the fact that I did not belong to his camp, made no 
 effort to become intimate. He was quite simple and 
 polite to me as to every one else, but nothing more. 
 Meanwhile, all that I have heard of Brahms as a man 
 has made me doubly regret that the " revelation " 
 predicted by von Biilow has not been vouchsafed to 
 me. He is an unusually pleasing and attractive man, 
 and all who have come in contact with him are 
 inspired by a warm affection and devotion. The 
 celebrated Czechist composer Dvorak used to speak 
 with tears in his eyes of the warm interest Brahms 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1 8 8 8 189 
 
 showed him at a time when his compositions found 
 neither publishers nor performers, and what powerful 
 support he gave him, and what energy he showed in 
 sounding the depths of unknown genius of his 
 Slavonic brother in art ! Brodsky also related 
 instances which revealed the sympathetic side of 
 Brahms's character, especially his rare and pleasing 
 modesty. It is well known that Wagner treated his 
 contemporaries with the greatest animosity, and 
 always showed himself particularly caustic to Brahms's 
 works. Once, when some one reported to the latter 
 some fresh sarcasm which Wagner had levelled at 
 him, he exclaimed : " Good heavens ! Wagner, 
 honoured and triumphant, takes up most of the high- 
 road. How can I, going my own modest way, be 
 any hindrance or annoyance to him.? Why cannot 
 he leave me in peace, since we are never likely to 
 clash ? " 
 
VI 
 
 At this same dinner at Brodsky's I made another 
 acquaintance, not less interesting, but deeper and less 
 fleeting than the first, and destined soon to be 
 transformed into a genuine friendship, based upon 
 the undoubted affinity of two musical natures, though 
 neither of us was well acquainted with the other's 
 works. During the rehearsal of Brahms's new trio, 
 as I was taking the liberty of making some remarks 
 as to the skill and execution of the relative tempo 
 2-3 — remarks which were very good-naturedly re- 
 ceived by the composer — there entered the room a 
 very short, middle-aged man, exceedingly fragile in 
 appearance, with shoulders of unequal height, fair 
 hair brushed back from his forehead, and a very 
 slight, almost boyish, beard and moustache. There 
 was nothing very striking about the features of this 
 man, whose exterior at once attracted my sympathy, 
 for it would be impossible to call them handsome or 
 regular ; but he had an uncommon charm, and blue 
 eyes, not very large, but irresistibly fascinating, re- 
 calling the glance of a charming and candid child. 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 191 
 
 I rejoiced in the depths of my heart when we were 
 mutually introduced to each other, and it turned out 
 that this personality which was so inexplicably sympa- 
 thetic to me belonged to a musician whose warmly 
 emotional music had long ago won my heart. He 
 proved to be the Norwegian composer Edward 
 Grieg, who twenty years ■ earlier had gained great 
 popularity in Russia and the Scandinavian Peninsula, 
 and together with Svendsen had acquired the highest 
 respect and a great name. I think I am right in 
 saying that just as Brahms was undeservedly disliked 
 by the Russian musicians and general public, so Grieg 
 had known how to win over Russian hearts once and 
 for ail. In his music there prevails that fascinating 
 melancholy which seems to reflect in itself all the 
 beauty of Norwegian scenery, now grandiose and 
 sublime in its vast expanse, now grey and dull, but 
 always full of charm to the hearts of Northmen, 
 and having something akin to ourselves, quickly finds 
 its way to our hearts, and evokes a warm and 
 sympathetic response. 
 
 Grieg is probably not by any means so great a 
 master as Brahms ; his range is not so extensive, his 
 aims and tendencies are not so wide, and apparently 
 in Grieg the inclination towards obscurity is entirely 
 absent ; nevertheless he stands nearer to us, he seems 
 mc^e approachable and intelligible because of his 
 deep humanity. Hearing the music of Grieg, we 
 instinctively recognise that it was written by a man 
 impelled by an irresistible impulse to give vent by 
 means of sounds to a flood of poetical emotion. 
 
192 Tchaikovsky 
 
 which obeys no theory or principle, is stamped with 
 no impress but that of a vigorous and sincere artistic 
 feeling. Perfection of form, strict and irreproachable 
 logic in the development of his themes, are not 
 perseveringly sought after by the celebrated Nor- 
 wegian. But what charm, what inimitable and rich 
 musical imagery ! What warmth and passion in his 
 melodic phrases, what teeming vitality in his harmony, 
 what originality and beauty in the turn of his 
 piquant and ingenious modulations and rhythms, 
 and in all the rest what interest, novelty, and 
 independence ! If we add to all this that rarest of 
 qualities, a perfect simplicity, far removed from all 
 affectation and pretence to obscurity and far-fetched 
 novelty (and many contemporary composers, in- 
 cluding some Russians, are striving with a morbid 
 tendency to break into new ways without possessing 
 the least vocation or natural gift), it is not surprising 
 that every one should delight in Grieg, that he should 
 be popular everywhere — in Paris, London, and 
 Moscow — that his name should appear in all concert 
 programmes, and that visitors to Bergen should deem 
 it a pleasant duty to make a pilgrimage to the 
 charming though remote haven among the rocks of 
 the shore, where Grieg retires to work and where he 
 spends most of his life. 
 
 I trust it will not appear like self-glorification that 
 my dithyramb in praise of Grieg precedes the state- 
 ment that our natures are closely allied. Speaking 
 of Grieg's high qualities, I do not at all wish to 
 impress my readers with the notion that I am 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 193 
 
 endowed with an equal share of them. I leave it 
 to others to decide how far I am lacking in all that 
 Grieg possesses in such abundance, but I cannot help 
 stating the fact that he exercises and has exercised 
 some measure of that attractive force which always 
 drew me towards the gifted Norwegian. Later on 
 I shall have occasion to prove this ; meanwhile I will 
 only say that I value Grieg's sympathy very highly, 
 and thank my lucky star for this meeting and 
 opportunity of personal acquaintance with him. 
 
 Together with Grieg, there entered the room 
 where we were assembled a lady who was growing 
 slightly grey and resembled him very closely in 
 appearance, being just as small, fragile, and sympa- 
 thetic. She was his wife, and also his cousin, which 
 accounts for their resemblance. Subsequently I was 
 able to appreciate the many and precious qualities 
 possessed by Madame Grieg. In the first place she 
 proved to be an excellent, though not very finished, 
 singer ; secondly, I have never met a better-informed 
 or more highly-cultivated woman, and she is, among 
 other things, an excellent judge of our literature, in 
 which Grieg himself was also deeply interested ; 
 thirdly, I was soon convinced that Madame Grieg 
 was as amiable, as gentle, as childishly simple and 
 without guile as her celebrated husband. 
 
 There was another lady at this party about whom 
 I should like to say a few words. After the Christmas 
 Tree, while we were all sitting round the tea-table at 
 Brodsky's, a beautiful dog of the setter breed came 
 bounding into the room and began to frisk round 
 
 o 
 
1 94 Tchaikovsky 
 
 the host and his little nephew, who welcomed his 
 arrival. " This means that Miss Smyth will appear 
 directly," everybody exclaimed at once, and in a few 
 minutes a tall Englishwoman, not handsome, but 
 having what people call an " expressive " or " in- 
 telligent" face, walked into the room, and I was 
 introduced to her at once as a fellow -composer. 
 Miss Smyth is one of the comparatively few women 
 composers who may be seriously reckoned among 
 the workers in this sphere of music. She had come 
 to Leipzig a few years before and studied theory and 
 composition very thoroughly ; she had composed 
 several interesting works (the best of which, a violin 
 sonata, I heard excellently played by the com- 
 poser herself and Mr. Brodsky), and gave promise 
 in the future of a serious and talented career. Since 
 no Englishwoman is without her originalities and 
 eccentricities. Miss Smyth had hers, which were : 
 the beautiful dog, which was quite inseparable from 
 this lonely woman, and invariably announced her 
 arrival, not only on this occasion, but at other 
 times when I met her again ; a passion for hunting, 
 on account of which Miss Smyth occasionally re- 
 turned to England for a time ; and, finally, an 
 incomprehensible and almost passionate worship for 
 the intangible musical genius of Brahms. From her 
 point of view Brahms stood on the supreme pinnacle 
 of all music, and all that had gone before him 
 served merely as a preparation for the incarnation 
 of absolute musical beauty in the creations of the^ 
 Viennese master. And in this case, as invariably, 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 195 
 
 when I came in contact with rabid Brahmsites, I 
 tormented myself with the question : Are they all 
 wrong and imagine what does not exist, or have I 
 so offended God and Nature that the " revelation " 
 predicted by Biilow will never condescend to bless 
 me? 
 
 The first day of 1888 (New Style) fell at this 
 period, so full of varied impressions, and that day 
 I was present at an extra concert at the Gewand- 
 haus, at which a new work by Brahms — his Double 
 Concerto for Violin and ^ Cello — was played for the 
 first time. Joachim played the violin, the 'cello 
 was taken by the celebrated Berlin virtuoso Hauss- 
 mann, and Brahms himself conducted the orchestra. 
 The concerto, notwithstanding its excellent render- 
 ing, produced no impression upon me whatever. I 
 was struck by the absolute perfection with which the 
 famous choir of the Thomaskirche — consisting of 
 men's and boys' voices — sang a number of choruses 
 a capella, among them a motet by J. S. Bach. I 
 never heard anything like it at home, and I confess 
 that I was unpleasantly surprised, for I had hitherto 
 believed that some of our first-rate choirs were the 
 very best in the world. The performance of Beet- 
 hoven's Fifth Symphony by the splendid Gewand- 
 haus orchestra would have quite sent me into 
 ecstasies if it had not been that the respected con- 
 ductor, Herr Reinecke, took the tempi too slow, as 
 I thought. Perhaps he was justified by the true 
 traditions ; if so, it is better not to keep them too 
 strictly, for I am firmly persuaded that this inspired 
 
196 Tchaikovsky 
 
 symphony is better and more charming when taken 
 quicker, as with us. The hall of the new Gewandhaus 
 is very fine, and holds a large audience ; it is lit by 
 electric light, is comfortable, beautiful, elegant, and, 
 most important of all, possesses exemplary acoustic 
 arrangements. In the large box belonging to the 
 directors, in which I sat, were many distinguished 
 members of the Leipzig musical world, with all of 
 whom I was acquainted, and among them Reinecke, 
 who was very attentive to me. The head of the 
 Concert Society of the Gewandhaus, Herr Linburger, 
 informed me that my first rehearsal would take place 
 the following morning at ten o'clock. 
 
VII 
 
 The famous Gewandhaus concerts, given in connec- 
 tion with the little town of Leipzig, which is one of 
 the first musical centres of Germany, are celebrated 
 for the excellence of the symphony orchestra, and 
 distinguished by their conservative and classical 
 programmes, in which — apart from the three great 
 classical composers, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, 
 and their contemporaries — only Mendelssohn and 
 Schumann are recognised. The works of Wagner, 
 Berlioz, and Liszt are rarely performed there. It is 
 only very recently that the directors of this musical 
 institution have begun to make some timid advances 
 in the spirit of the times, and one of these moves was 
 my unexpected invitation to Leipzig in order to 
 conduct one of my own works. Both in Germany 
 and at home this invitation excited considerable 
 surprise ; but especially in the former country, where 
 many people, without any real foundation, regard 
 me as a representative of the ultra-revolutionary 
 party in music, just as in Russia I am often placed, 
 equally without grounds, in the ranks of the retro- 
 
igS Tchaikovsky 
 
 grades. Probably the event would never have come 
 off but for the kind intercession of Mr. Brodsky, 
 who has great influence in Leipzig ; but the initiative 
 in this instance is due to Herr N., of whom I have 
 already spoken. In any case I recognise the fact, in 
 all sincerity, that the choice of a work of mine in the 
 Gewandhaus programmes was very flattering to my 
 vanity as a composer, and that I was exceedingly glad 
 to be starting my tour from Leipzig, because this 
 incident was sure to lend greater weight to my name 
 throughout Germany. But the prouder I felt of this 
 attention from the Direction of the Gewandhaus, the 
 more anxious I was to prove a worthy representative 
 of Russian music abroad, and the more indescribably 
 was I agitated by my inherent shyness and the fear 
 " lest I should do something to blush for." After a 
 night of misery, disturbed by every possible appre- 
 hension, and particularly by the dread lest my 
 nervousness should prevent my doing myself justice 
 as a passable conductor, I started for the rehearsal, 
 accompanied by Siloti. As we approached the 
 Gewandhaus, we met, at the entrance, the respected 
 Capellmeister, Reinecke, who was hurrying in to the 
 rehearsal in order to introduce me to the orchestra. 
 In Germany and throughout Europe, Reinecke enjoys 
 the reputation of being an excellent musician and a 
 talented composer of the school of Mendelssohn. 
 He is a skilful conductor of the Gewandhaus 
 concerts ; that is to say, he conducts them in a 
 worthy manner, but not with that especial brilliance 
 which has made them so famous throughout the world. 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 199 
 
 I say " not with especial brilliance," because many 
 Germans deny that Reinecke possesses talent as a 
 conductor, and would like to see his place filled by a 
 musician of a more impassioned temperament, of 
 stronger and more decided character. At any rate 
 he is one of the most prominent and influential 
 members of the German musical world, and if there 
 are not a few Wagnerians, Lisztites, Brahmsites, and 
 other progressists of all shades who do not love 
 Reinecke, none refuse to respect him as a capable 
 and conscientious musician. Such a respect I, too, 
 had long since felt for Reinecke, and now the un- 
 usual attention and kindness which he hastened to 
 show, both at the extra concert at the Gewandhaus 
 and during my entire visit to Leipzig, were of the 
 greatest value to me. 
 
 When the Capelldiener announced that all the 
 musicians were assembled, we went from the artists' 
 room to the platform ; Reinecke took me to the 
 conductor's desk, tapped with the baton, spoke a few 
 words of introduction, to which the musicians replied 
 by clapping and rapping on their desks with their 
 bows, and handed me the baton. I then stepped 
 into the conductor's place, spoke a few compliment- 
 ary words, probably in very bad German, and the 
 rehearsal began, Reinecke now quitting the room. 
 We played my First Suite, in five movements, of 
 which the first (Introduction and Fugue) is considered 
 one of my most successful eflforts. The first quarter of 
 an hour of this rehearsal, before I had had time to take 
 in all the strange faces in the orchestra, was very 
 
200 Tchaikovsky 
 
 trying and agitating, at least for such a nervous and 
 inexperienced conductor as myself. Only after the 
 first break, when I had to set right some misunder- 
 standings, I was able to look more closely at the 
 members of the orchestra, — then the nervousness 
 passed off, and there remained only my anxiety to 
 make the business go as well as possible. After the 
 first movement of the Suite, I could see by their 
 looks and smiles that many of the players were already 
 friendly towards me. At this the last traces of 
 shyness vanished, the whole rehearsal went off very 
 pleasantly, and I came away with the conviction that 
 I had to deal with an orchestra of extraordinary 
 capability. Both Reinecke and Brahms were present 
 at the rehearsal. On meeting Brahms, he made no 
 encouraging remarks ; I was told he was very 
 pleased with the first movement, but did not praise 
 the restj especially the " Marche Miniature." 
 
 The next rehearsal was a general one. It is the 
 custom in Leipzig to admit the public to this final 
 rehearsal, and this audience consists chiefly of young 
 students, who are very warm and generous in the 
 expression of their feelings, while the audience at the 
 concerts themselves is exceedingly cold, critical, and 
 chary of its praise. At the rehearsal my Suite and 
 its composer were honoured by a storm of applause 
 and by repeated recalls. But this was perhaps 
 entirely owing to the presence of a great number of 
 Russian students in philology, who were not sparing 
 in the loud expression of their feelings for a fellow- 
 countryman. In any case I was very pleased with 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 201 
 
 my success, and on returning home I was to experi- 
 ence a still greater pleasure. This took the form of 
 a card which Grieg had left for me on his way back 
 from the rehearsal, with a few written words in 
 which the impression the Suite had made upon him 
 was expressed with such warmth and enthusiasm that 
 I scruple to repeat them to my readers. A sincere 
 compliment from such a gifted confrere as Grieg is 
 the highest and most precious joy that can fall to an 
 artist's lot. 
 
 The next day the concert itself took place. Mr. 
 Brodsky had previously prepared me for a chilly 
 reception by the audience, therefore I was neither 
 surprised nor annoyed when on mounting to the 
 conductor's desk there was not a single clap, and the 
 sole response to my bow was a sepulchral silence. But 
 after the first movement followed lively applause, 
 more or less repeated after each succeeding move- 
 ment of the Suite, and at the end I was twice 
 recalled, which, at the Gewandhaus, may be inter- 
 preted as the proof of a great success. After the 
 concert I went to supper with Reinecke. He and 
 his family all did their best to be kind and polite ; 
 and Herr Reinecke, who among other things is an 
 excellent French scholar, proved exceedingly agree- 
 able and charming in conversation. In his youth he 
 had been intimate with Schumann, and related many 
 incidents in the life of the great German master. 
 Schumann was really melancholy, and it might have 
 been predicted from the first that this inherent 
 depression would lead to hypochondria and insanity. 
 
202 Tchaikovsky 
 
 as it eventually did. He was surprisingly silent ; it 
 seemed as though every word cost him an extra- 
 ordinary effort. What was peculiarly striking in his 
 musical organisation was his complete lack of power 
 as a conductor, and Reinecke told me of an instance 
 which made it evident that he could not even dis- 
 tinguish accurately the various timbres of orchestral 
 instruments, and that he was entirely wanting in a 
 natural feeling for rhythm, so indispensable for a 
 conductor. How difficult to realise such an anomaly 
 in a musician who, judging from his works, was so 
 especially inventive as regards rhythm ! 
 
 At Reinecke's I made the acquaintance of the 
 French composer Gouvies, who always spent the 
 winter in Leipzig. Monsieur Gouvies was com- 
 pletely Teutonised, spoke German perfectly, was 
 rather hostile towards his own country (that is as 
 regards music), and on the whole gave me the un- 
 pleasant impression of a man who thinks himself 
 disillusioned and injured, and not being appreciated 
 by his own countrymen, is consequently disposed to 
 exaggerate the virtues and value of foreigners. It is 
 quite probable that Monsieur Gouvies had some good 
 cause for railing against musical France ; but it 
 was painful to me to hear him extol everything 
 German at the expense of France. I had never met 
 such a type of Frenchman before. 
 
VIII 
 
 Another day (Christmas Day itself, according to 
 Russian style) I was present at a concert given by 
 the Liszt- Verein in the room of the old Gewandhaus. 
 Just in proportion as the new concert-room is beauti- 
 ful, sumptuous, roomy, and elegant, the old one is 
 small, uncomfortable, and even rather dirty. But 
 this room, and especially the little artists' room 
 attached to it, has sacred memories in German art, 
 and a thrill of awe passed through me when, seated 
 there, I thought how its walls had often looked upon 
 Mendelssohn, Schumann, and many other great 
 musicians who had appeared, through many decades, 
 upon the platform of the Gewandhaus. 
 
 The concert took place in the morning, and con- 
 sisted exclusively of my works. The society which 
 bears the name of Liszt, contrary to the Gewandhaus, 
 devotes all its energies to the production of modern 
 music. It has only been in existence two years, but 
 already it has its own public, a fairly large one, which 
 on this occasion filled the hall to the last seat. Among 
 the directors of this society are many admirers of 
 
204 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Liszt, mostly young, people of energy and talent, 
 and it seems as though, in time, it might become a 
 serious rival to the Gewandhaus. Among those who 
 are particularly delighted with the success of the 
 society, I must mention the talented musical critics 
 Martin Krause and Fritsch, the gifted conductor of 
 the Leipzig Opera (a native of Vienna), and our 
 fellow-countryman Siloti. 
 
 The leader of the Grand Ducal orchestra of 
 Weimar came from that town on purpose to hear 
 this concert. The young violinist Halir, of whom 
 I had heard so much from his admirer Siloti, and 
 whose acquaintance I was all the more pleased to 
 make because in recent years he had made a special 
 study of my violin concerto — the one I have already 
 alluded to in connection with Brodsky — took part in 
 the concert. Halir had played my concerto every- 
 where, enduring the sneers and censure of the most 
 influential critics upon his queer taste, and striving, 
 in spite of all this, to make my much-abused creation 
 one of the show-pieces at symphony concerts in 
 Germany. On this occasion Herr Halir, together 
 with Siloti and that excellent 'cellist Schroeder (who 
 has since had a great success In Moscow), played my 
 Trio dedicated to the memory of Nicholas Rubin- 
 stein. The rendering was quite exemplary. Herr 
 Petri's quartet (he is the leader of the Gewandhaus 
 orchestra) played my first quartet very finely, and, 
 besides these, one or two smaller compositions of 
 mine were performed. The audience of the Liszt- 
 Verein are enthusiastic and very generous in their 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 205 
 
 applause. I could not complain of any lack of 
 warmth. The society presented me with a wreath. 
 During the whole performance I sat on the platform 
 ill full view of the audience, having Grieg and his 
 wife as neighbours. Afterwards a friendly critic — 
 Fritsch — told me that he saw a lady point out the 
 Griegs and myself to her daughter, saying, " Look, 
 dear, there sits Tchaikovsky, and by his side his 
 children." This was said quite seriously, and is not 
 so very surprising, because I am quite grey and 
 elderly, while Grieg, who is forty-five, and his wife, 
 look extraordinarily young and small at a distance. 
 
 After the concert I spent some very pleasant 
 hours with Siloti and some friends of his, directors of 
 the Liszt-Verein. We talked a great deal about 
 Russian music, and I was very much gratified to find 
 that these gifted young musicians were well acquainted 
 with our music, and very sympathetically disposed 
 towards Glinka, Balakirev, Rimsky-Korsakov, Boro- 
 din, and Glazounov. They were particularly fond 
 of Balakirev 's Islamey, and considered this work, 
 on account of its originality, quite unique of its kind. 
 On this memorable day I first heard Halir play my 
 concerto. It appeared to me that this artist, who is 
 endowed with wonderful beauty of tone, prodigious 
 technique, passion, brilliancy, and power, must soon 
 take one of the first places among the violinists of 
 oiu- time. 
 
IX 
 
 After these two great days in my life I spent a 
 whole week in Leipzig, and afterwards I twice re- 
 turned there for a few days at a time. That I may 
 not have to take up the subject of Leipzig again, 
 I will now mention some interesting acquaintances 
 whom I made there, and other facts of interest. 
 
 The Opera of Leipzig is proud of its gifted young 
 conductor, Nikisch, who Is a specialist as regards the 
 later Wagner dramas. There I heard Rheingold 
 — the first of the famous tetralogy — and Meister- 
 singer. The orchestra of the Opera is the same as 
 that of the Gewandhaus, and consequently first-rate ; 
 but as their playing at the concerts under Reinecke 
 is not beyond reproach, it is evident that we can 
 only form some idea of the perfection to which they 
 can attain under a talented conductor by hearing 
 their rendering of Wagner's elaborate scores when 
 conducted by such an astonishing master of his 
 business as Nikisch, His conducting has nothing in 
 common with the effective and, in its way, inimitable 
 conducting of Hans von Biilow. In proportion as 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 207 
 
 the latter was mobile, restless, and showy in his style 
 of conducting, which appealed to the eye, Herr 
 Nikisch is elegantly calm, sparing of superfluous 
 movements, yet at the same time wonderfully strong 
 and self-possessed. He does not seem to conduct, 
 but rather to exercise some mysterious spell ; he 
 hardly makes a sign, and never tries to call attention 
 to himself, yet we feel that the great orchestra, like 
 an instrument in the hands of a wonderful master, 
 is completely and irresponsibly under the control of 
 its chief. And this chief is a somewhat short, pale, 
 young man, about thirty years of age, with beautiful 
 bright eyes, and gifted — it must surely be— with some 
 magic power which makes the orchestra resound like 
 a thousand trumpets of Jericho, or coo like a dove, 
 or die away in a mysterious whisper. And all this 
 is done in such a way that the audience do not notice 
 the little conductor who is quietly ruling his obedient 
 slave — the orchestra. 
 
 Nikisch is a Germanised Hungarian ; I imagine 
 this is not a unique example. But certainly, among 
 musicians at least, I never met but one who, having 
 been born in Florence and spent his youth there, had 
 so entirely lost the characteristic southern features 
 (I speak from a musical point of view) of his native 
 land, and had so completely borrowed from the 
 Germans their language, customs, and above all their 
 musical style, as the talented Ferrucio Busoni, with 
 whom I became somewhat intimately acquainted. 
 Busoni was still young when he came to live in 
 Germany, where he attended a good music school 
 
2o8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 and became a pianist of marvellous technique. I 
 heard a quartet which Busoni had recently composed 
 excellently played by Herr Petri's quartet. This work 
 proved that Busoni has a decided gift for composition 
 and also serious tendencies ; and as I have reason to 
 believe, from personal knowledge, that the young 
 composer has strength of character, brilliant intellect, 
 and lofty ambitions, I have no doubt that he will 
 soon be much talked of. For my part I listened to 
 this quartet, and while delighting in the exceedingly 
 original rhythmic and harmonic combinations, I could 
 not but regret that Busoni in every way did violence 
 to his nature, and strove, apparently, to be German 
 at any price. Something similar may be observed 
 in another Italian of the new generation, Sgambati. 
 Both of them seem ashamed of being Italian ; they 
 seem to fear lest their compositions should show a 
 shadow of melody, and desire to make them obscure, 
 in the German style. A sad phenomenon indeed ! 
 That inspired old man Verdi opened out a new path 
 to Italian composers in Aida and Otello, without in 
 the least imitating the German style (although some 
 suppose, quite wrongly, that Verdi is following in 
 Wagner's footsteps) ; while those of his young com- 
 patriots who tend towards Germany are striving to 
 win their laurels in the land of Beethoven and 
 Schumann at the price of doing violence to their 
 nature. They strive to be like Brahms, deep, 
 obscure, even wearisome, if only they may not be 
 confounded with that host of Italian composers who, 
 even in these days, still continue dishing up in every 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 209 
 
 style the old operatic commonplaces of Bellini and 
 Donizetti. But they forget that the sheep remains 
 a sheep in spite of the lion's skin ; and if the lion is 
 endowed by nature with his share of beauty and 
 strength, the sheep, too, is gentle, and has his 
 wonderful warm fleece, as well as other virtues which 
 should be cultivated, perfected, and valued no less 
 highly than the opposite qualities and merits of the 
 lion. I am firmly convinced that Italian music will 
 only enter on a new period of prosperity when, in- 
 stead of quarrelling with their national tendencies 
 and joining the ranks of the Wagnerians, Lisztites, 
 Brahmsites, etc., they begin to draw fresh musical 
 elements from the bosom of their national genius, 
 and, discarding the trivialities of the thirties, create 
 new forms in the spirit of their nationality and in 
 conformity with their surroundings and gorgeous 
 southern scenery. For the brilliant natural char- 
 acteristics of the Italians, their richness of melody, 
 and the facQe external beauty which belong to the 
 genius of Italian music are not perhaps incompatible 
 with a certain depth, though of a different kind to 
 that of the Germans. Busoni is an excellent pianist, 
 and it is very desirable that he should visit us in the 
 immediate future ; in any case he is a striking and 
 interesting personality. 
 
 To complete my impressions and experiences 
 
 of Leipzig, I will relate one interesting episode 
 
 ' which tends to prove that politics do not influence 
 
 music, and that Mars and Apollo, being gods, are 
 
 not jealous of each other. Since Bismarck made 
 
2 1 o Tchaikovsky 
 
 his celebrated inflammatory speech in February, all 
 Germany has been enveloped in a flame of fierce 
 Russophobism. However, early one morning I was 
 awakened by a noise and bustle in the corridor of my 
 hotel, which was soon followed by a knock at my 
 door. Somewhat alarmed, I jumped out of bed, 
 opened the door, and learned from the waiter who 
 was knocking that an aubade was about to begin 
 under my window, and that politeness demanded 
 that I should appear there, in spite of the unusual 
 severity of the frost. The waiter then handed me a 
 programme, elegantly designed, consisting of eight 
 numbers of very varied music. At this moment the 
 strains of our National Hymn resounded from below. 
 As soon as I was dressed I opened the window 
 and beheld In the small courtyard of the hotel, 
 stationed immediately under my windows, a full 
 military band, in the midst of which stood the band- 
 master in a uniform as resplendent as that of a field- 
 marshal. All eyes were turned towards me. I 
 bowed, and remained standing bareheaded in the 
 bitter frost of this early February morning. It was 
 the band of one of the regiments then stationed in 
 Leipzig ; an excellent one too, and they played their 
 programme very well, which was the more surprising, 
 because the cold was enough to paralyse the fingers of 
 the poor musicians, who endured the cruel winter frost 
 for over an hour. The conductor, Herr Jahrow, did 
 me the honour of being particularly fond of my 
 music, and, thanks to this, a body of Germans, in full 
 uniform, had been compelled to flatter my ears that 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 211 
 
 morning. After the serenade was finished, the con- 
 ductor came up to see me, gave me a cordial greeting, 
 and then hastened away to his military duties. 
 Needless to say, I was very much touched by this 
 expression of sentiment. I do not know if the other 
 visitors in the hotel were equally gratified at being 
 roused from their beds at such an early hour by the 
 strains of trumpets and trombones ; but at least their 
 curiosity must have been aroused. From all the 
 windows people in various stages of costume looked 
 out to see what was going on. 
 
There are two distinct symphony societies in 
 Hamburg. One is old-established, possesses large 
 funds and a very celebrated orchestra. The other has 
 been started quite recently by a well-known Hamburg 
 concert-agent, PoUini. It has no orchestra of its own, 
 but employs the band of the Opera, which consists of 
 second-rate artists, who are, moreover, overworked 
 to the last degree by their service at the theatre. 
 Both societies give a series of symphony concerts, and 
 the Philharmonic has long since been conducted by 
 Dr. Bernuth, an excellent and experienced conductor, 
 who is generally respected in Hamburg both as a 
 musician and as a very amiable and charming man. 
 The orchestra of the other society is conducted by 
 Hans von Biilow. As invariably happens, there exists | 
 between these two musical enterprises a deep enmity, 
 a mutual antagonism and desire to outdo each other 
 in receipts, success, and fame. I had been invited to 
 conduct three of my works at one of the concerts of 
 the Philharmonic Society, and thus fell into the camp 
 which was opposed to Hans von Biilow, who, it 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 213 
 
 seemed to me, cherished no great friendship for the 
 Philharmonic. I felt that I was placed in an awkward 
 position. Hans von Biilow had, in time past, done 
 me invaluable service, and I considered myself for 
 ever in his debt. Therefore, realising the situation of 
 musical affairs in Hamburg, I was grieved to think 
 that I might cause him any annoyance. But my 
 anxiety was quite unnecessary. Hans von Biilow, 
 being a born gentleman, took my appearance at the 
 concert of the opposition society in a most gentle- 
 manly way. In spite of ill-health, and extreme 
 fatigue caused by the constant travelling from 
 Hamburg to Bremen, Bremen to Berlin, and back 
 again to Hamburg, which he continued to do all 
 through the three years during which he conducted 
 the Subscription Symphony Concerts, von Biilow 
 accorded me a most hearty welcome. He came to 
 call upon me, and what still more attracted the 
 attention of all the Hamburgers, he remained from 
 beginning to end of the concert in which I took part. 
 As at the first rehearsal at the Gewandhaus, I felt 
 exceedingly nervous when on the 17th of January 
 I attended the rehearsal at Covent Garden, the room 
 in which the concerts of the Hamburg Philharmonic 
 Society take place. My method of procedure with 
 the orchestra was just the same as at Leipzig. I 
 began with the Finale of my Third Suite (Theme and 
 Variations). The faces of the players at the moment 
 of my first beat expressed nothing further than a 
 rather cool curiosity, but soon some of them began to 
 smile and nod to each other as much as to say. 
 
214 Tchaikovsky 
 
 " This Russian bear is not really so very bad." A bond 
 of sympathy was established between us, and all my 
 agitation and diffidence vanished as though at the touch 
 of some magic wand. The subsequent rehearsals and 
 the concert itself brought me nothing but pleasure. 
 Such anxiety is only unbearable when an artist is not 
 sufficiently at home in his business, and feels himself 
 a stranger in an entirely new sphere. These fears 
 and agitations which every one goes through — 
 especially a nervous man — before appearing in public, 
 will cease to trouble him if he can believe in the 
 sympathy of his colleagues and those around him. At 
 the second rehearsal I experienced a rare delight at 
 the success which fell to the lot of our young com- 
 patriot Sapellnikov. This young artist had been 
 invited at the recommendation of Madame Sophie 
 Menter (in whose class he had finished his course at 
 the Conservatoire of St. Petersburg) to play, under 
 my conductorship, my difficult Pianoforte Concerto, 
 No I. 
 
 On the eve of my departure from Petersburg I had 
 occasion to hear Sapellnikov's playing ; and although 
 I had been able to form some slight appreciation of its 
 fine quality, yet — owing, perhaps, to the bustle and 
 haste which precedes a long journey — I did not at 
 the time observe all the rare qualities possessed by this 
 sympathetic young pianist. Now, at the rehearsal, 
 as Sapellnikov surmounted one after another the 
 inconceivable difficulties of my concerto, and gradually 
 revealed all the power and distinctiveness of his colossal 
 gift, my enthusiasm increased, and, what was still more 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 215 
 
 agreeable, it was shared by the whole orchestra, who 
 applauded him warmly between each break, and 
 particularly at the end. A rare force, beauty, and 
 brilliancy of tone ; inspired warmth of rendering ; 
 a wonderful power of self-restraint ; finish of detail, 
 musical sensibility, and complete self-confidence — 
 these are the distinguishing characteristics of Sapellni- 
 kov's playing. Famos, unglaublich, kolossal ! were the 
 expressions which escaped from the musicians as soon 
 as they had finished their ovation. I need not say 
 how I rejoiced at this genuine and hearty outburst of 
 enthusiasm called forth from these German artists by 
 our future great pianist. There are so many mediocre 
 pianists ; it is so hard to distinguish oneself in this 
 career ; and to be able thus suddenly to astound and 
 carry away a body of strange musicians is a thing to 
 be proud of ! 
 
 The following morning the rehearsal, as at the 
 Gewandhaus, was a public one, and the concert took 
 place the same evening. Of my three works, the 
 Serenade for Strings and Orchestra pleased the Ham- 
 burg public most, and evoked a storm of applailSe. 
 My Pianoforte Concerto did not please much in itself, 
 but Sapellnikov's rendering was appreciated for its own 
 merits, and the highly-gifted pianist was very enthu- 
 siastically received. The Finale of my Third Suite 
 did not seem to suit the public taste. Too noisy and 
 restless in its orchestral effects, this movement puzzled 
 the audience of the Hamburg Philharmonic Society, 
 who are not accustomed to the modern symphonic 
 style. It was explained to me afterwards that this 
 
2 1 6 Tchaikovsky 
 
 audience is exceedingly conservative, and of living 
 composers only willingly acknowledges Brahms, 
 
 After the concert there was a large supper-party 
 at Dr. Bernuth's house. Very complimentary things 
 were said about Russian music in general and the 
 writer of this journal in particular. I replied in a 
 German speech, to the many mistakes in which the 
 company showed themselves kindly indulgent. When 
 the party was over, some of my new friends carried 
 off Sapellnikov and myself to a Bier-Kneipe, where 
 we talked and drank beer until two in the morning. 
 But this was not the end ; we were then persuaded 
 to go on to one of the Viennese cafes which, in 
 Hamburg, remain open all night, and there we sat 
 a long time, making libations to Bacchus. It seems 
 to me that in Hamburg people do not live so 
 quietly and decorously as in other German towns. 
 All my friends there, even those who were serious- 
 minded and occupied solid positions in the world, 
 loved to "dissipate" ; and nowhere else did I 
 "dissipate" so often and so much as in this lovely, 
 gay, and charming town. 
 
 Another day the Tonkunstlerverein (a society of 
 musicians) gave an evening in my honour. Only 
 my music was performed. A young lady — a Fraulein 
 Nathan — sang some of my songs, and Sapellnikov 
 played three of my pieces. 
 
 As in Leipzig I had enjoyed my intimacy in the 
 family circles of Brodsky and Siloti, so in Hamburg 
 I was made quite at home by the firm of Bliithner — 
 well known throughout the musical world — and by 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 217 
 
 the amiable Herr D. Rather, whose family have long 
 been living in this town — ever since the death of a 
 dear son in Petersburg, and the consequent anxiety 
 as to the health of his remaining children, induced 
 Herr Rather to separate himself from his family, 
 whom he visits occasionally for three months at a 
 time. I spent many pleasant hours with Rather, his 
 wife, and his charming children, of whom, un- 
 fortunately, only the eldest knows a few words of 
 Russian, although they were born in Russia. I should 
 like to take this opportunity of declaring my deep 
 gratitude to Herr Rather for his unceasing kindness 
 and the friendly part he played on my behalf; for 
 to his initiative I owe my invitation to Hamburg, 
 and from Hamburg date aU the flattering invitations 
 which reached me, one after another, from various 
 places in Germany. 
 
XI 
 
 In Hamburg, as in Leipzig, I made some very 
 interesting acquaintances. First of all I must 
 mention the head of the committee of the Phil- 
 harmonic Society, a very old gentleman, Herr Ave- 
 Lallement. This venerable old man of over eighty 
 paid me great attention, and gave me the flattering 
 reception of a compatriot. In spite of his age, his 
 infirmity, and the great distance at which he lived, 
 Herr Lallement attended two rehearsals, the concert, 
 and the party at Dr. Bernuth's. He carried his 
 amiability so far as to desire to possess my photo- 
 graph, taken by the best photographer in Hamburg ; 
 came to see me in person in order to ask about it, 
 and himself arranged the hour of the sitting and the 
 size and style of the picture. I visited the kindly 
 old gentleman, who, as the reader can see for him- 
 self, was quite free from the prejudices of old age 
 against all that is modern, and I had a long and 
 very interesting chat with him. Herr Lallement 
 candidly confessed that many of my works which 
 had been performed in Hamburg were not at all to 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 219 
 
 his mind ; that he could not endure my noisy 
 instrumentation, and disliked some of the orchestral 
 effects to which I had recourse, especially my use of 
 the instruments of percussion ; but, for all that, he 
 thought I had in me the making of a really good 
 German composer. Almost with tears in his eyes 
 he besought me to leave Russia and settle per- 
 manently in Germany, where classical conventions 
 and the traditions of high culture could not fail to 
 correct my faults, which were easily explicable to 
 his mind by the fact of my having been born and 
 educated in a country so unenlightened and, as 
 regards progress, so far behind Germany. It was 
 evident that he did cherish a deep prejudice against 
 Russia, and I strove my best to overcome his hostility 
 towards our national sentiments, of which, moreover, 
 he was ignorant, or only knew them through the 
 speeches of the Russophobist section. We parted 
 good friends. 
 
 I also met with equal courtesy and amiable 
 frankness from the leading Hamburg critic, Herr 
 Sithardt. He attended all the rehearsals, made a 
 close study of such of my scores as were performed, 
 and wrote a long and detailed article, in which he 
 censured in decisive terms the tendencies which I 
 upheld, and found fault with my symphonic style, 
 describing it as rough, patchy, barbarous; and 
 suggestive of Nihilism. Herr Sithardt frankly 
 repeated these reproaches to me in person ; but at 
 the same time his words rang with such genuine 
 feeling, and gave evidence of such careful study and 
 
2 2 o Tchaikovsky 
 
 friendliness, that I preserved a very pleasant recollec- 
 tion of my short acquaintance with him. 
 
 Several other musicians, and people not profession- 
 ally engaged in music but deeply interested in it, 
 paid me flattering attentions, and understood how to 
 express a cordial sympathy, leaving an ineffaceable 
 impression upon my memory. Such were Dr. 
 Riemann, who has devoted himself to the study of 
 musical theory, and is not unknown to us in Russia ; 
 that witty old man Gurlitt, the composer of a 
 number of well-known piano fantasias and tran- 
 scriptions ; the talented violinist Willy Burmeister ; 
 the conductor Laube, appointed to the Pavlovsk 
 concerts in the summer of 1888 ; the violinists 
 Morvege and Behr ; Armbrust the organist, and 
 many others. 
 
 From my conversation with all these, I gathered 
 that nowhere was the Brahms cult more extensive 
 than in Hamburg. The question of this composer's 
 position, which was always troubling me, met with 
 the same response here as elsewhere. Only in Ham- 
 burg I finally realised how an artist's work may 
 sometimes be valued not for its intrinsic worth, for 
 itself alone, but for some fortuitous reason. As our 
 Russian proverb admirably expresses it : " When 
 there is no fish the crayfish passes for one.',' The 
 fact is that Wagner and Wagnerism does not 
 suffice the entire German public, as many believe. 
 No doubt there are fully convinced, energetic, 
 and powerful advocates of Wagner, who strive in 
 every way to establish his creed in Germany and 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 221 
 
 to further the progress of his music ; but the great 
 mass of the German public are intensely conservative 
 and ready to protest against every kind of musical 
 innovation. If, to a certain extent, they are re- 
 conciled to Wagner's triumph in the domain of 
 opera, yet in the concert-room they stand firmly by 
 classical tradition. The school of Liszt, which would 
 like to monopolise the concert platforms, meets with 
 incredible obstacles and has no success. Musical 
 Germans who are not infected with Wagnerism, and 
 hold aloof from his exclusiveness, possess a certain 
 modesty and a nice ear which makes them turn in 
 disgust from all violent effects, from all that is 
 decided, eccentric, piquant, brilliant, singular ; in a 
 word, from everything that scintillates in the new 
 symphonic music of all the European schools. So 
 strong is the need of a musician who will devote 
 himself to symphony in the classical style, to the 
 sober and recognised traditions of the great masters, 
 that for the lack of a new genius capable of leading 
 the German school in the path indicated by Haydn, 
 Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, and Schumann, 
 and their compeers, the Germans — at least the 
 majority of them — have concentrated their hopes 
 on Brahms, who, if he cannot be Beethoven, is at 
 least inspired by a noble ambition to follow in his 
 steps. 
 
XII 
 
 The Berlin Philharmonic Society, or I should rathei; 
 say the society of instrumentalists who hire the room 
 known as the " Philharmonia," invited me to attend 
 an extra concert consisting entirely of my own 
 compositions. I have already stated that the arrange- 
 ment of the programme was attended with some 
 difficulties, because Herr Schneider, the president of 
 the society, was anxious to perform something which 
 would bring me into favour with the Berlin public. 
 I considered, and still consider, my Overture 1812 
 quite mediocre, having only a patriotic and local sig- 
 nificance which made it unsuitable for any but Russian 
 concert-rooms. But it was precisely this overture 
 that Herr Schneider wished to include in the pro- 
 gramme, saying that it had been performed several 
 times in Berlin with success. On the other hand, I 
 thought that my Romeo and Juliet fantasia ought 
 to be the chief item on the programme, and Herr 
 Schneider, who is a very charming and amiable man, 
 finally agreed to this, but very unwillingly. He 
 thought it would be a great risk to perform such a 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 223 
 
 difficult work, which, in his opinion, was not likely 
 to please. I decided to consult Hans von Biilow, 
 who was well acquainted with my music as well as 
 with the tastes of the Berlin public, and to my great 
 surprise he sided with Herr Schneider. I then gave in. 
 The orchestra of the Berlin Philharmonic Society 
 is very fine, and has what I must call the quality of 
 elasticity, the power of stretching itself to the 
 dimensions of a Berlioz or Liszt orchestra, and of 
 rendering to perfection the capricious effects of 
 Berlioz, or the massive, sonorous tones of Liszt's 
 orchestra ; while, on the other hand, it can contract 
 to the requirements of a Haydn. In this respect 
 the Berlin orchestra reminds me very much of those 
 of our capital towns. This probably is due to the 
 fact that in Berlin, as with us, a decided eclecticism 
 dominates the concert programmes. Here, as in 
 Petersbiorg or Moscow, you may hear at one concert 
 Haydn and Glazounov, Beethoven and Bizet, Glinka 
 and Brahms, and thus everything is executed with 
 the same loving care, brilliancy, and ensemble. The 
 musicians who are members of the Philharmonic 
 Society are not employed at the Opera ; consequently 
 they are not tired out. Besides which, they form an 
 association, the members of which are on an equal 
 footing, and play for their own benefit and not for 
 that of an agent, who pays a very small salary. 
 This is the reason why their performances are strong 
 and full of expression. From the very first rehears^ 
 I was encouraged by the gentlemen of the orchestra, 
 and by their attention and affability, and everything 
 
224 Tchaikovsky 
 
 went off well. The rehearsal was attended by 
 many prominent musical people, who expressed their 
 interest in every possible way. Among them I must 
 mention Grieg, who had purposely come from 
 Leipzig to be at my concert, Moritz Moskovsky, 
 Professor Ehrlich, and Hans von Biilow himself, who, 
 in spite of extreme fatigue, appeared at the first 
 rehearsal and was most kind to me. In spite of 
 very unfavourable weather, the concert attracted a 
 large audience and went off very brilliantly. Siloti 
 played my concerto very finely, and had a great 
 success ; Sapellnikov was so good and amiable that 
 he undertook to accompany the singer Friede, who 
 sang several of my songs. Of the symphonic works, 
 the Overture 1812 and the Introduction and Fugue 
 from my First Suite pleased best. I was received 
 with loud applause. 
 
 My reader will perhaps observe that I speak less 
 willingly and give fewer details of my visit to 
 Berlin than might be expected, seeing its importance 
 as the capital of Germany, but I have a reason, which 
 I wUl explain. The fact is that it is difficult and 
 painful to speak of Berlin. In my heart I still have 
 a lively recollection of the irreparable loss which 
 befell me in the death of the late J. I. Koteka, my 
 pupil, and afterwards my most intimate friend, who 
 lived in Berlin for eight years, and held a high 
 position in the town. Every day I came in contact 
 with people among whom the dead man had lived ; 
 many of them, like myself, were attached to him by 
 ties of friendship ; every moment I was discussing 
 
Diary of My Tour in 1888 225 
 
 circumstances and events which keenly reminded me 
 of my departed friend, and reopened a wound that 
 was scarcely healed. Time alone can soften such a 
 blow ; and it needs a long, long time to reconcile us 
 to the death of a gifted young man full of strength 
 and energy. . . . 
 
 Among those who were especially friendly to me 
 in Berlin I wiU mention the well-known concert - 
 agent WoliF ; the fine violinist Emil Sauret ; the 
 celebrated Moritz Moskovsky, whose personality 
 seemed to me as interesting as his creative gift ; the 
 publisher and charming man Hugo Bock ; and finally 
 Madame Artot — so well remembered by the Moscow 
 public. This talented singer had been living for 
 some time in Berlin, where she was particularly 
 appreciated and loved by the Court and the public, 
 and where she sang with great success and also gave 
 lessons. I was invited, together with Grieg, to spend 
 an evening at Madame Artot's house, the memory of 
 which will never be effaced. Both the personality 
 and the art of this singer are as irresistibly fascinating 
 as ever. 
 
LIST OF WORKS 
 
 Op. I. No I. Scherzo a la russe. 2. Impromptu. Two piano- 
 forte pieces dedicated to Nicholas Rubinstein. 
 
 Op. 2. Three pieces for pianoforte. Souvenir de Hapsaal. 1. 
 Ruines d'un Chateau. 2. Scherzo. 3. Chant sans paroles. 
 
 Op. 3. The Voievoda : an opera of which only two numbers 
 exist. I. Overture. 2. Entr'acte and Air de Ballet. 
 
 Op. 4. Valse Caprice. For pianoforte (D major). 
 
 Op. 5. Romance. For pianoforte (F minor). Dedicated to 
 Mile. Desiree Art&t. 
 
 Op. 6. Six songs. For voice and pianoforte. 
 
 Op. 7. Valse-Scherzo (A major). For pianoforte. Dedicated 
 to Madame A. Davidoy. 
 
 Op. 8. Capriccio (G sharp major). For pianoforte. Dedicated 
 to C. Klindworth. 
 
 Op. 9. Three pieces for pianoforte. I. Reverie. 2. Polka de 
 Salon. 3. Mazurka de Salon. 
 
 Op. 10. Two pieces for pianoforte. I. Nocturne. 2. Humo- 
 resque. 
 
 Op. II. First String Quartet (D major). For two violins, viola, 
 and violoncello. Dedicated to M. Serge Ratschinsky. 
 
 Op. 12. The Snow Maiden (Snegourotchka). Music to a fairy- 
 tale by Ostrovsky. I. Introduction. 2. Dance and Chorus 
 of Birds. 3. Monologue of the Frosts. 4. Carnival 
 Chorus. 5. Melodrama, ^a. Entr'acte. 6. Lei's Song. 
 7. Lei's Song. 8. Entr'acte. 9. Chorus of Blind Gusslee- 
 players. 10. Melodrama. 11. Folk Chorus and Chorus 
 
List of Works 227 
 
 of the Courtiers. 12. Choral Dance of Maidens. 13. 
 Jesters' Dance. 14. Lei's Song. i^a. Lei's Song. 15. 
 Brussilio's Song. 16. Appearance of the Wood Demons 
 and the Shadow of the Snow Maiden. 17. Entr'acte. 
 18. March of the King of Berendei and Chorus. 19. 
 Finale. 
 Op. 13. First Symphony (G minor), "Winter -Day Dreams." 
 
 1. Allegro tranquillo : "Dreams on the High-road in Winter." 
 
 2. Adagio cantabile : Dreary Land, Land of Mists. 3. 
 Allegro scherzando giocoso. 4. Finale : Andante lugubre. 
 
 Op. 14. Vakoula the Smith. Opera written for a prize com- 
 petition organised by the Grand Duchess Helena, after- 
 wards rewritten and published as The Caprices of Oxane. 
 
 Op. 15. Triumphal Overture on the Danish National Hymn. 
 For full orchestra. 
 
 Op. 16. Six songs. 
 
 Op. 17. Second Symphony (C minor), on Malo-Russian Themes. 
 I. Andante sostenuto. 2. Andantino marziale. 3. Scherzo. 
 4. Finale. 
 
 Op. 18. The Tempest (F minor). Orchestra-fantasia on Shake- 
 speare's play. Dedicated to M. Vladimir Stassov. 
 
 Op. 19. Six pieces for pianoforte. .1. Reverie du Soir. 2. 
 Scherzo humoristique. 3. Feuillet d' Album. 4. Noc- 
 turne. 5. Capriccioso. 6. Theme original et variations. 
 
 Op. 20. The Swan Lake. Ballet in four acts. 
 
 Op. 21. Six pieces for pianoforte, on one theme. Dedicated to 
 Anton Rubinstein. 
 
 Op. 22. Second String Quartet (F major). For two violins, 
 viola, and violoncello. 
 
 Op. 23. Concerto for pianoforte and orchestra (B flat minor). 
 Dedicated to Hans von Billow. 
 
 Op. 24. Eugene Oniegin. An opera in three acts. Libretto 
 adapted from the poem of A. Poushkin. 
 
 Op. 25. Six songs. Published by V. Bessel and Co., St. Peters- 
 burg. 
 
 Op. 26. Serenade melancholique (B minor). For violin and 
 orchestra. Dedicated to Herr L. Auer. 
 
 Op. 27. Six songs. 
 
 Op. 28. Six songs. 
 
22 8 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Op. 29. The Third Symphony (D major), i. Introduction and 
 Allegro. 2. Alia tedesca. 3. Andante elegiaco. 4. Finale : 
 Allegro con fuoco (tempo di polacca). 
 
 Op. 30. Third String Quartet (E flat). For two violins, viola, 
 and violoncello. Dedicated to the memory of F. Laub. 
 
 Op. 31. Slavonic March. On national themesj For full 
 orchestra. 
 
 Op. 32. Francesca di Rimini. Orchestral fantasia from Dante's 
 Inferno. Dedicated to M. Serge Taneiev. 
 
 Op. 33. Variations sur un theme rococo (7 variations and 
 coda). For violoncello, with orchestral accompaniment. 
 Dedicated to M. G. Fitzenhagen. 
 
 Op. 34. Valse-Scherzo (C major). For violin and orchestra. 
 
 Op. 35. Concerto (D major). For violin and orchestra. Dedi- 
 cated to Mr. A. Brodsky. 
 
 Op. 36. The Fourth Symphony (F minor). For full orchestra. 
 Dedicated "to my best friend." I. Andante sostenuto. 
 
 2. Andantino in modo di canzone. 3. Scherzo. 4. Finale : 
 Allegro con fuoco. 
 
 Op. 37. Grand Sonata (G major). For pianoforte. Dedicated 
 to Herr C. Klindworth. 
 
 Op. yja. The Seasons. Twelve characteristic pieces for piano- 
 forte. 
 
 Op. 38. Six songs, with pianoforte accompaniment. 
 
 Op. 39. Children's Album. Twenty-four easy pieces in the 
 style of Schumann, for pianoforte. 
 
 Op. 40. Twelve pieces for pianoforte (medium difficulty), i. 
 Etude. 2. Chanson triste. 3. Marche funSbre. 4. 
 Mazurka. 5. Mazurka. 6. Chant sans paroles. 7. Au 
 Village. 8. Valse. 9. Valse. 10. Danse russe. 11. 
 Scherzo. 12. Reverie interrompue. 
 
 Op. 41. The Liturgy of St. John of Chrysostom. For four voices 
 (soprano, alto, tenor, and bass), with pianoforte accompani- 
 ment. 
 
 Op. 42. Three pieces for violin, with pianoforte accompaniment : 
 Souvenir d'un' lieu cher. i. Meditation. 2. Scherzo. 
 
 3. Melodic. 
 
 Op. 43. First Orchestral Suite, i. Introduction and Fugue. 2. 
 Divertimento. 3. Intermezzo. 4. Scherzo. 5. Gavotte. 
 
List of Works 229 
 
 Op. 44. Second Concerto for pianoforte and orchestra. Dedicated 
 to Nicholas Rubinstein. 
 
 Op. 45. Capriccio italien. For orchestra. 
 
 Op. 46. Six duets. For two voices and pianoforte accompani- 
 ment. 
 
 Op. 47. Seven songs, with pianoforte accompaniment. 
 
 Op. 48. Serenade for string orchestra. 
 
 Op. 49. The Year 1812. A solemn overture, written for the 
 opening of the Cathedral of Christ the Redeemer, Moscow. 
 
 Op. 50. Trio for piano, violin, and violoncello. Dedicated " to 
 the memory of a great artist " (Nicholas Rubinstein). 
 
 Op. 51. Six pieces for pianoforte. i. Valse de Salon. 2. 
 Polka peu dansante. 3. Menuetto scherzoso. 4. Natha- 
 Valse. 5. Romance. 6. Valse sentimentale. 
 
 Op. 52- Russian Service (first vespers). An attempt to har- 
 monise the church canticles (for mixed choir). 
 
 Op. 53. Second Orchestral Suite, i. Jeu de sons. 2. Valse. 
 3. Scherzo burlesque. 4. Reves d'enfant. 5. Danse 
 baroque (style Dargomijsky). 
 
 Op. 54. Sixteen songs for young people, with pianoforte accom- 
 paniment. 
 
 Op. 55. Third Orchestral Suite. i. Elegie. 2. Valse Melan- 
 cholique. 3. Scherzo. 4. Tema con variazoni (12 varia- 
 tions). 
 
 Op. 56. Concert-Fantasia. For piano, with orchestral accom- 
 paniment. Dedicated to Madame Sophie Menter. 
 
 Op. 57. Six songs, with pianoforte accompaniment. 
 
 Op. 58. Manfred. Symphony, in four tableaux, from the 
 dramatic poem by Byron. Dedicated to M. Mily Balakirev. 
 I. Lento lugubre : Manfred in the Alps. 2. Vivace con 
 spirito : The Spirit of the Alps appears to Manfred. 3. 
 Andante con moto : Pastorale. 4. Allegro con fuoco : The 
 palace of Arimane. Manfred amid the bacchanalian revels. 
 Evocation of the shade of Astarte. She predicts the end 
 of his mortal woes. Death of Manfred. 
 
 Op. 59. Dumka. Russian rustic scene. For pianoforte. 
 
 Op, 60. Twelve songs, with pianoforte accompaniment. Dedi- 
 cated to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. 
 
 Op. 61. Fourth Orchestral Suite (Mozartiana). i. Giguc. 2. 
 
230 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Menuet, 3. Preghicra. 4. Theme and Variations (10 
 
 variations). 
 Op. 6z. Pezzo Capriccioso. Morceau de Concert. For violon- 
 cello, with orchestral or pianoforte accompaniment. 
 Op. 63. Six songs, with pianoforte accompaniment. Dedicated 
 
 to His Imperial Highness the Grand Duke Constantine. 
 Op. 64. The Fifth Symphony (E minor). Dedicated to M. Ave- 
 
 Lallement of Hamburg, i . Andante : Allegro con anima. 
 
 2. Andante cantabile. 3. Valse : Allegro moderato. 4. 
 
 Finale : Andante maestoso : Allegro vivace (alia breve). 
 Op. 65. Six melodies to French words. 
 Op. 66. Sleeping Beauty. A ballet preceded by a prologue (30 
 
 numbers). 
 Op. 67. Hamlet. Overture-Fantaisie for full orchestra. Dedi- ■ 
 
 cated to Edward Grieg. 
 Op. 67a. Hamlet. Overture, melodramas, marches, and entr'- 
 actes. For small orchestra. 
 Op. 68. Dame de Pique (Queen of Spades). An opera in 
 
 three acts and seven scenes. 
 Op. 69. lolanthe. A lyric opera in one act. 
 Op. 70. Souvenir de Florence. Sextet for stringed instru- 
 ments. I. Allegro con spirito. 2. Adagio cantabile. 3. 
 
 Allegro moderato. 4. Allegro vivace. 
 Op. 71. Casse-Noisette (The Nut-cracker). Fairy ballet for 
 
 orchestra, in two acts (15 numbers). 
 Op. jia. Suite for full orchestra, adapted from the score of 
 
 the Casse-Noisette ballet. I. Overture Miniature. 2. 
 
 Danses caracteristiques : (a). Marche ; {b) Danse de la Fee 
 
 Dragee ; (f) Danse russe, Trepak ; (</) Danse arabe ; 
 
 {e) Danse chinoise ; {f) Danse des mirlitons. 3. Valse 
 
 des fleurs. 
 Op. 72. Seventeen pieces for pianoforte. 
 Op. 73. Six songs, with pianoforte accompaniment. 
 Op. 74. Sixth Symphony, " Pathetic " (B minor). Dedicated 
 
 to M. Vladimir Davidov. l . Adagio : Allegro non troppo. 
 
 2. Allegro con grazia. 3. Allegro molto vivace. 4. Finale: 
 
 Adagio lamentoso. 
 Op. 75. Concerto No. 3 (posthumous). For piano and orchestra. 
 
 Dedicated to M. Louis Diemer. 
 
List of Works 231 
 
 Works without Opus Number 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. Overture-fantasia after Shakespeare, for 
 
 full orchestra. Dedicated to M. Mily Balakirev. 
 Romeo and Juliet. Duet (soprano and tenor). Posthumous 
 work, completed from sketches left by the composer, and 
 
 orchestrated by S. Taneiev. 
 Elegy in memory of J. Samarin. For string orchestra. 
 Solemn Coronation March. For orchestra. Composed for the 
 
 coronation of the Emperor Alexander III. at Moscow. 
 Solemn Marche. For full orchestra (posthumous). 
 Military March. For military band. Dedicated to the 98th 
 
 Regiment of Infantry. 
 Impromptu — Caprice. For pianoforte. 
 Valse-Scherzo. For pianoforte. 
 Impromptu. Published in the album of old students of the 
 
 Conservatoire dedicated to A. Rubinstein, St. Petersburg, 
 
 1889. 
 Impromptu (Momento lirico). For pianoforte (posthumous). 
 Perpetuum mobile. Finale of Weber's Sonata in A flat minor, 
 
 arranged for left hand only. 
 Five songs, with pianoforte accompaniment (published separately). 
 Hommage a A. Rubinstein. Chorus a capella, composed for his 
 
 Jubilee, 1889. Words by Polonsky. 
 Chorus for male voices. Dedicated to the students of Moscow 
 
 University. 
 Chorus (The Nightingale). For mixed choir. 
 Night. Vocal quartet. Music arranged from Mozart's Fantasia 
 
 for Piano (No. 4). 
 Love and Nature. Vocal trio (posthumous). 
 Nine church choruses for mixed voices. 
 Hymn in honour of SS. Cyril and Methodius. Chorus a 
 
 capella on an old Slavonic melody. 
 Mazeppai Opera in three acts. 
 Moscow. Cantata for solo, chorus, and orchestra. Written for 
 
 the Coronation of the Emperor Alexander III. 
 The Oprichnik. Opera in four acts. Published by W. Bessel 
 
 and Co., St. Petersburg. 
 
232 Tchaikovsky 
 
 Joan of Arc. Opera in four acts. 
 The Enchantress (Charodeika). Opera in four acts. 
 Le caprice d' Oxane (Cherevichek) : Two little Shoes. Origin- 
 ally published as Vakoula the Smith. 
 
 Recent Posthumous Works 
 
 Overture to the Drama The Storm, by Ostrovsky. Composed 
 in 1865. Published by M. Belaiev, Leipzig, 1896. 
 
 Fatum (Destiny). Symphonic poem. Composed in 1869. 
 Belaiev, Leipzig, 1896. 
 
 Op. 78. The Voievoda. Symphonic ballad. For orchestra. 
 Belaiev, Leipzig, 1897. 
 
 Op. 79. Andante and Finale. For piano and orchestra. In- 
 strumentation by S. Taneiev. 
 
 Except where it is otherwise stated, the works are published by 
 P. Jurgenson, Moscow. 
 
 THE END 
 
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